


The Road Trip (Destiel)

by Gemminycricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean, Castiel Learns to be Human, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, Drunken Kissing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Road Trips, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9679634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemminycricket/pseuds/Gemminycricket
Summary: Castiel is human now, and Dean insists that a road trip is an important part of the human experience. The road, dodgy motels and greasy food shows the former angel life under Dean's metaphorical wing. Together they journey on a long drive and discover that there might be more to their friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel leaned awkwardly against the door of the Impala, watching patiently with his brow furrowed as Dean packed a couple of duffel bags into the trunk. Dean hadn’t said much when he had approached Cas not even twenty minutes earlier, one half packed duffel bag in hand. Cas had scooted back in his seat, gazing up at the hunter, curious as to why his jaw was so tense and his eyes were sombre with repressed rage. Dean had gestured for Cas to follow him, and the former angel obliged without question, trailing Dean into his room where he was instructed to pack the empty duffel on the bed with whatever clothes he thought might fit him.

Cas hadn’t argued at the time, still startled by Dean’s obvious foul mood, but now he was a little concerned. The bags had been an indicator of a long journey, but it hadn’t occurred to him to ask where exactly they were going.

 Or why Sam wasn’t going with them.

He hadn’t actually seen Sam since the night before when the two brothers were skulking around each other like insolent children, Cas sitting silently to the side all the while with nothing else to do except watch. Mostly he pondered over the Winchesters’ irrefutable stubbornness, and he theorized that it must be heredity somehow. He had no other explanation for how the two of them had perfected the art of obstinacy in which neither would be the first to admit fault, never mind how easily the majority of their arguments could be resolved with a simple apology.

Cas had heard voices echoing from the end of the hall the previous night, the volume swiftly amplifying as their argument became more heated. With his door closed he couldn’t quite make out the dispute in its entirety though he could paint a picture now with what he had overheard. It was a squabble that he didn’t have the energy to defuse, nor did he have a rightful place to try. He knew he shouldn’t interrupt and involve himself where he wasn’t wanted, so he simply kept his distance, hoping for it to die down on its own. Which it did. Or at least he thought it did. Dean’s sudden insistence for a road trip, just the two of them, was evidence to the contrary.

“Shouldn’t we invite Sam?” Cas asked timidly, not wanting to make Dean angrier than he already was. Dean slammed the trunk shut and Cas winced, suddenly unsure as to how he ought to stand or where he should put his hands. Dean’s expression was jarring, and Cas considered the idea of sitting in the back seat rather than in the front alongside the hunter.

“No. Sam’s staying here,” Dean responded plainly, digging the keys from his pocket. “This trip is about you.”

“About me?” Cas asked, apprehensive. It certainly seemed like it was about Sam and Dean; Cas wasn’t really sure where he himself came into it.

“Or _for_ you, whichever you prefer,” Dean confirmed and nodded his head toward the passenger door. Cas took that as his cue and opened it, the thought of the backseat still playing around the forefront of his mind. Really, he was just unwilling to argue with Dean on anything.

“Why for me? What do I need it for?”

“Well, you’re human now.”

“Yes, but—”

“So you have to have the human experience. The road trip is a classic. You’ll love it,” Dean explained dismissively and started the car, adjusting the rear view mirror while he waited for Castiel to gather his thoughts and shut the door.

Cas had to admit he was curious, and more than intrigued. If this was really a human experience then he knew he ought to try it, especially since Dean apparently thought so highly of it. The fact that Dean himself was giving the experience to him greatened the appeal.

And Cas could use the distraction.

While the bunker was comfortable with its security and warmth and great water pressure, Cas had started to feel stifled by the enclosed spaces without any windows to the outside. He hadn’t spent so much time in one place before and he had found he didn’t like it as much as he thought he would. He wasn’t used to being grounded, unable to fly from one location to the next on a whim.

He’d started to feel heavy, burdened by what he thought must be mortality. From what Sam had told him, humans don’t really _feel_ mortality until they think about it, whereas Cas felt it all the time. He thought that perhaps humans simply familiarise themselves with the sensation until they are no longer aware of its constant presence.

Cas was still waiting for it to grow on him.

Dean remained focused on the road, his jaw still all sharp edges and his lips hard-pressed in a thin line. Cas tried to appreciate the scenery as it flew past his window, the canopy of trees blurring into one another. He didn’t have to look at the gauge to know what Dean was speeding, but he offered no comment on the matter, aware that Dean most likely sped more often than not. He trusted that the hunter knew what he was doing.

Cas tried to distract himself from the speed limit but little else came to mind. Nothing good at least. When and if Cas was lucky, he could forget for half an hour or so, but most days were spent under torment at what he had inadvertently done. Only a few weeks had passed, but Dean had insisted that the guilt would ease as the time passed, and here Cas was feeling just as awful as ever, if not worse. It was still so raw, each reminder feeling like salt rubbed into fresh wounds, and by this point he was starting to believe that he truly deserved the pain. His guilt was inconceivable, and certainly daunting to the brothers the one time he had tried to describe it to them. They hadn’t been able to console him at the time, and Cas hadn’t really given them opportunity to try since.

And he thought that his mortality made it worse. 

The need to eat didn’t fade in periods of immense distress, and he still had to drag himself out of bed to use the bathroom despite wanting nothing more than to stay buried inside his blankets, wallowing. It was just exhausting. Though now he held much greater respect for humans for somehow coping with their physical needs whilst suffering from their emotional ones.

Cas looked to Dean who seemed more relaxed than before, but his fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel and he gnawed on his lip. Once or twice Cas saw the hunter open his mouth and then close it again, as though he was lost for words. Cas too didn’t know what to say. He turned back to the window, resting his arm against the door.

While the view was nothing special, Cas just appreciated having natural lighting for once, and he wound down the window to let in the cool breeze. Instantly he felt refreshed, awake now from his usual state of near constant exhaustion (he hadn’t expected to feel tired so frequently since Sam and Dean always seemed to sleep for four hour intervals at a time). The air dried his lips and tickled at his skin, the cool climate of late Fall soon making him shiver. He inspected the goose bumps on his arms, still impossibly intrigued by them though he understood how perfectly mundane the ‘phenomenon’ was.

“Roll that up will you?” Dean requested, tugging the collar of his coat up over the skin of his neck.

Cas wound the window up again, lazily running his fingers through his windswept hair to try and neaten it. He glanced at the radio, surprised to see how many hours had already passed, and he realised that he and Dean hadn’t said one word to each other until now.

Now that he’d noticed, the silence turned deafening and he shifted in his seat, tapping his thigh restlessly with his hand until Dean suddenly groaned and let his head droop forward for a few seconds.

“Just… stop with the tapping,” Dean pleaded and started to dig through the glove compartment, one hand still on the steering wheel. “How bout some music, huh?”

“Music?” Cas had of course heard some music before, but he hadn’t ever really stopped to focus on it, instead having it there only as background noise.

“Yeah. You’ve gotta start with the good stuff. Heaven forbid your first real experience with music be something shitty,” Dean said and tossed some cassette tapes into Castiel’s lap.

Cas picked them up one at a time, inspecting them each in turn, curious as to what exactly an AC/DC or a Metallica was. Dean slipped a cassette into the stereo, cranking up the volume before Cas even had the chance to ask questions.

“Led Zeppelin!” Dean shouted over the music, grinning excitedly, “One of the greats!”

Cas could barely hear him, but he tried to listen to the music the way Dean did. He granted that it was good, but then again, he didn’t know what exactly would qualify for bad. He near shuddered at the thought of Dean’s reaction were he to voice his complete ignorance about music.

“I recall hearing a vinyl once,” Cas said uncertainly.

Dean turned down the volume, straining to hear him, “What?”

“I recall—”

“No, I heard that part. I meant, what vinyl was it? You remember the artist? A song?”

Cas shook his head, sure now that he probably shouldn’t have brought it up. He must sound so foolish. “Well, no… but I think I remember some of the lyrics.”

“Sing it,” Dean suggested, smiling at the former angel.

“No.”

“Oh come on, I might know what it is,” Dean implored teasingly, “I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice.”

“Absolutely not,” Cas said, firm in his resolve. He was positive that his voice would not appeal to anyone’s ears, certainly not to Dean’s, and he was sure to get the words wrong.

Dean grinned. “Party pooper. Did you like it? The vinyl, I mean.”

“I guess so,” Cas shrugged, trying to remember the melody of the music. He wasn’t sure whether he had made an assessment of it at the time, but he supposed it hadn’t been awful, though it was nothing like what was playing now.

“Cassette tapes are just the poor man’s vinyls, so I’m sure you’ll like them just fine,” Dean assured him.

Castiel leaned back in his seat and watched Dean as the next song played. It was much softer than he would have expected, having heard the vibrations of heavy instruments and shouted lyrics resounding from Dean’s car many times before. It intrigued him to see the hunter tapping the underside of the steering wheel in time to the words, his head nodding gently to the beat, but what captivated him most was Dean’s smile. His lips were quirked to the side in a crooked grin, his features softening into something almost serene. That alone suddenly made Cas decide that he did like the song, and that from now on he could call it his favourite if anyone were to ask.

From what he could understand, the lyrics described a journey, not unlike the one they had just embarked on together where there wasn’t an end in sight—ultimately the destination didn’t matter. It was a voyage into the unknown with assured pain and glory, a life loose from any restraints. Cas suddenly understood the appeal it held for Dean; after all, it was just like the only life Dean really knew: just himself, Sam, the Impala, and the road.

“You like it?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel with obvious exhilaration, pleased he had someone to share his music with.

“Very much,” Cas answered. Dean’s grin broadened and his eyes creased at the corners.

“I’m telling you, Cas, I’ve got all the good stuff. I’ll have you well educated on only the best in no time.”

Castiel looked forward to it; happy that it made Dean happy, and it meant there would be more moments like this to come.

For the first time in days, he forgot about losing his grace and the angels falling.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel went ahead into the gas station whilst Dean filled up the car, stopping to look through the magazine rack idly while he waited. He hadn’t made an effort in the past to read any though he had briefly seen some of the covers in shops and in the hands of middle aged women sitting in the park while their children climbed the playground. Now that he inspected them up close, he became more confused by their subjects; unable to grasp how they so easily enthralled humans. He picked one up and leafed through the pages, underwhelmed by the number of images in comparison to the number of words. From what he had come to understand, picture books were intended for children, not adults. Though the pictures here were of very scantily clad women in what appeared to be unnatural poses that surely put strain on their knees. He thought that this surely wasn’t appropriate for kids.

He looked up and saw the store clerk watching him with his eyebrow raised, only shaking his head and looking away when their eyes met each other. Cas assumed that meant he had done something wrong, since he had seen the Winchesters appraise him the same way a few times in the past. He set the magazine back in its rightful place and picked up another. Fleetingly, he wondered what exactly a Kardashian was and whether it was just as awful as it sounded; like a disease or a fungus of some kind. As he flipped through it, he recognised some of the names in the article headlines and supposed that this was the celebrity gossip that Sam sometimes mentioned in passing. This he doubted he would ever understand; though he thought that perhaps it was comparable to how the angels looked up to God. Humans certainly seemed equally devoted to their Beyoncé and Justin Bieber though he wasn’t really sure why.

“Find anything interesting?” Dean asked, standing just beyond his shoulder. Cas jumped, startled, still not used to being unable to sense someone approaching. This loss of vital senses left him on edge and easy to frighten.

“What’s a Kardashian?” Castiel asked innocently and Dean chuckled.

“You don’t wanna know,” the hunter replied simply, “hell, I wish I didn’t know.”

Cas nodded his head accordingly and put the magazine back, thinking it was probably wise to take Dean’s answer very seriously. He hadn’t expected anything good to come out of name like Kardashian, and Dean had confirmed his suspicions to be true.

It seemed to him like he was starting to get the hang of things.

“I’m gonna stock up on some snacks. I won’t judge you if you wanna pick up some porn,” Dean said, “my personal recommendation? Busty Asian Beauties. You can’t go wrong.”

Dean winked and walked over to the drink fridges, leaving Cas standing there with his cheeks flushed scarlet and his skin prickling with goose bumps though it wasn’t cold inside the store. Embarrassed, Castiel ducked his head a little and grabbed any random magazine from the rack and took it to the front counter to pay; it didn’t matter to him now if the Kardashian fungus was or was not featured in it.

The clerk handed him his change, his expression still that of perplexity and he didn’t utter a single word to the former angel throughout the whole transaction. Castiel could still feel the heat in his cheeks as he pocketed the change and left the store with the magazine rolled up in his hand.

He didn’t bother trying to read it now as he waited in the car, instead watching Dean as the hunter trailed through the store, filling up a basket with various packets and containers. Eventually he emerged with multiple bags on each arm and a case of beer clutched in his hand. Cas quickly opened the magazine and pretended to have been reading it the entire time rather than watching the hunter, but Dean just laughed as he got into the car. Castiel glanced over the top of the magazine, confused as to what was so funny, and then Dean reached forward, took the magazine from his hands, and turned it the right way up.

“Bit easier to read now?” Dean teased, starting the ignition.

Castiel’s face flushed scarlet again and he cleared his throat, “Yes, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Dean chortled and drove out of the station and back onto the highway.   

For the remainder of the drive, Dean switched cassettes and explained the history of each band and song, having to try and raise his voice above the noise so Cas could hear. It was baffling to him how Dean could somehow retain so much information on things that Castiel himself had never actually heard of throughout his very long existence. It seemed like a lot to take in in such a short amount of time, but he tried to remember the facts in case he needed to recall them later. Mostly he just liked to see Dean get so animated as he talked, using his hands to emphasise the supposed brilliance of _Back in Black_ and _Paranoid_ amongst many others. 

As they went, Cas was starting to recognise that he did in fact have his own preferences when it came to music; liking the softer songs that occasionally appeared between Dean’s more fast paced rock. It honestly excited him to have something he could call his own, and now he had a descriptor for what he liked. Hearing everything through human ears gave him a sense of splendour that he couldn’t find before. Maybe this was all part of what Dean called the ‘human experience’.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Dean announced, turning the stereo down as they pulled into the parking lot of a fairly run down motel. Cas leaned forward and peered through the windscreen, observing the flaking paint and dirty windows of the building with uncertainty. He didn’t have a set standard to live up to by any means, and he had spent his first week or so as a human on the street and in the homeless shelter so this wasn’t so bad, but he knew it wasn’t great either. But Dean didn’t seem bothered by the obvious disrepair as he swung the ring of keys around on his finger and got out of the car. Cas followed and helped him gather the duffel bags and the provisions from the trunk.

He stared at the lobby of the motel as they entered, quickly discerning that the interior was as worn down as the exterior. The wallpaper drooped at the corners and the carpet was scuffed and stained with questionable substances. Even the check-in desk was chipped and marked with numerous coffee rings and ink splatter. It certainly wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t unlike the hotels Sam and Dean had stayed in before, so Cas somehow found it comforting in its familiarity, and his shoulders finally started to loosen out of their previous tension.

“One room, two queen beds, if you’ve got any spare. Just for one night,” Dean said to the receptionist who flipped through a large book, her chin resting heavily on her hand.

“Fill this out,” the woman instructed, sliding a form across the counter and then disappeared into the back room. She wasn’t gone long before coming back with a key. Dean exchanged the filled out form for the key with a sly grin, probably trying to get any kind of reaction out of her but she was unperturbed as she looked between the two men. “Don’t forget that _someone_ has to clean your sheets tomorrow,” she said purposely.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean replied smoothly and gestured for Cas to follow him to their room. “What a nice girl,” Dean muttered under his breath once they were out of earshot.

“She didn’t sound nice to me,” Cas said doubtfully.

“I was being sarcastic, Cas.”

“Oh,” Cas mumbled, hitching the duffel bag up more firmly on his shoulder. Dean shook his head fondly and held the door open so Cas could enter first. The room was exactly what the rest of the motel promised; the walls painted slapdashedly yellow and the carpet a hideous green.

“Believe it or not, this actually isn’t all that bad,” Dean said, appraising the room quickly as he tossed his bag onto one of the beds.

“I believe it,” Cas put his own bag down and circled the small room once before sitting down on the edge of his bed, at a loss as to what he and Dean were supposed to do now. Dean didn’t seem to have any ideas either as he put the beers into the fridge to cool down, his lips pursed in thought.

To avoid the silence, Castiel pulled the magazine out, now with the genuine intention of reading it and he adjusted the pillows at his back to get comfortable. Immediately, on the very first page, Cas’ brow furrowed in confusion and he looked to Dean for answers.

“Who is Lady Gaga and why is she dressed like that?”

“Hey, don’t ask me. I don’t follow any of that weird pop music crap,” Dean replied, looking amused as he tossed Cas a packet of chips.

He opened the packet using one hand and his teeth, his other hand still holding the magazine as his eyes scanned over the article. While this Lady Gaga woman was certainly baffling, the article itself had nothing interesting to offer, and while it described her outfit in great detail, it failed to explain _why_ she wore it, which bothered him more than it probably should.  

Dean flopped down onto his own bed with a tired sigh, covering his eyes with his arm. “Careful you don’t get hooked on that stuff. I swear it works like a drug on some people,” he warned the former angel, “one fix and then it becomes all about the Justin Bieber or One Direction. Then Hollywood actors will soon follow. It’s a downhill spiral.”

“I’ll proceed with caution then,” Castiel replied earnestly, turning to the next page and slowly eating his chips. “You watch Dr Sexy MD, don’t you, Dean?” He asked after a few minutes.

“Nope,” Dean was quick to respond, but then corrected himself, “well, not anymore. You can’t really see something the same way once you’ve been, well, _in_ it. Why do you ask?”

“There’s an article here about the cast. I thought you might be interested.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Dean got up and went to the fridge for a beer though they were bound to still be a little warm. “I don’t read that stuff.”

“Okay,” Castiel set the magazine aside and brushed his hands clean of leftover chip salt onto his jeans, getting up to find clothes to change into to retire for the evening. Dean watched as he went into the bathroom, pyjama pants and shirt in hand.

When he emerged from the bathroom, showered, dressed and his teeth brushed, he smiled fondly as he saw Dean trying to toss the magazine back into place before Cas could see him; moving too slowly to get away with it. The hunter ran a hand through his hair, casting his eyes away in fake disinterest, but he must have known that he had been caught red handed.

“You’re much leaner than I thought,” Dean commented, assessing Castiel from head to foot, successfully distracting him. The shirt was certainly a little baggy on him; hanging loosely on his shoulders, and the pants were sitting dangerously low on his hips. Cas looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious of his attire. He was a little leaner than Dean, but Sam was so ridiculously tall that there had been no way of his pants fitting Castiel, which meant there hadn’t been any other option except to share with the shorter Winchester—at least until they got the chance to buy Castiel his own clothes.

Honestly, Cas wasn’t in any rush to get a wardrobe of his own; these clothes smelt like Dean: like whiskey, spiced cologne and a faint remnant of gunpowder. It was just very Dean, and Cas found it easier to relax when he could breathe in the scent. It made it easier to cope with his own tormented thoughts.

He didn’t offer much of a response, just mumbling something incoherent as he climbed quickly under the covers of his bed. Dean smiled a little as he went into the bathroom to also clean up before going to bed. Once the bathroom door clicked shut, Cas breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to ease himself into a gentle slumber.

This was always the hardest part: getting to sleep.

At night, his thoughts would run rampant, somehow shaking him out of his exhaustion so he had no choice but to worry over them. Eventually the very early hours of the morning would guide him into slumber, but his dreams were often corrupted with nightmares that he no longer woke from. His body was too worn down to wake from them anymore, but then the whole process would begin again the next night which didn’t seem any better. He knew they were spurred on not by awful imaginings, but by his memories. His history would play out in his head like a horror movie set to repeat. All he wanted was just one night of uninterrupted rest, but he didn’t hold much hope of ever getting it.

He heard Dean come out of the bathroom and then the flick of the light switch followed by the hunter settling into his own bed. After that, there was silence. It was dense and eerie and Cas curled up into a tighter ball, his hands gripping the blanket anxiously as he tried hopelessly to push his depression aside. He hadn’t mentioned his unrest to Sam or Dean, having decided not to burden them with his problems since they had already given him a roof over his head, food to eat, and their clothes to wear, which was more than he even deserved.

But when a car backed out of the parking lot, its headlights streaming through the thin curtain covering the window, Castiel saw that Dean was lying there awake, watching him. Cas turned his back to the hunter, curling up even tighter so that his legs started to cramp. That look in Dean’s eye… it was like he had known all along that Castiel was suffering. It was like Dean was watching over him, protecting him from harm.

After that, Castiel somehow fell asleep before midnight.


	2. Chapter 2

“Rise and shine!” Dean was right at Castiel’s ear, shaking him awake. Cas opened his eyes slowly and peeked his head out from under the blankets. He squinted at the harsh light in the room from where Dean had opened the curtains completely. Once his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he realised it wasn’t actually sunny enough to be any later than 5:30 in the morning. And he wasn’t amused.

“No,” he grumbled, groggily pulling the blankets back over his head. There was no way he was going to allow this. Back at the bunker, Sam and Dean tended to leave him alone, disappearing for days at a time on hunts so Cas had the whole place to himself to do whatever he wanted—which was usually just sleep in and watch Netflix for hours on end. He’d become accustomed to this routine, and depended heavily on the hours of the day to rest and make up for the sleep he never got at night. Nothing seemed worse to him than having that routine taken away from him.

“You’ve gotta get up, Cas. We have a long way to go yet,” Dean said, shaking him again.

“How do you know? You don’t even know where we’re going,” Cas argued.

“Because I just know. Now get out of bed.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you,” Dean threatened. The hunter only waited a few short moments before gripping the blanket and trying to tug it away from the former angel.

Castiel fought for dear life, wrapping one leg around the blanket and curling away from Dean, pulling the blanket with him. There was no way Dean would win this one; Cas simply wouldn’t let him.

“Well now you’re just cheating,” Dean huffed, tugging the blanket with one hand whilst trying to push Castiel off the bed with the other, but Cas was like a dead weight: curled into a tight ball with the blanket now firmly clamped between his thighs. “Are you even tired anymore?”

Cas was quiet for about thirty seconds, casting a glare at Dean before answering, “…No.”

“Good. That means you can get up now,” Dean smirked, obviously feeling smug and satisfied. “The car is leaving in three minutes. If you’re not in your seat in time, then I’m leaving you behind. Capiche?”

“Yeah, I capiche,” Cas sighed grudgingly and theatrically rolled off the edge of the bed onto the floor, sluggishly dragging himself along the carpet before gradually standing.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dean rolled his eyes and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Insulting me at…at…” Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist and inspected his watch, “at 5:03am is not the best idea you’ve had.” He stood there, his chest heaving in genuine displeasure, his hair unkempt and his eyes wild with contempt. He was not a morning person.

“I’ll see you in the car. You’ve got two minutes and fifteen seconds,” Dean beamed and ruffled Castiel’s already messy hair before disappearing out the door.

Cas took his time to splash his face with cold water, hoping it would refresh him, but instead it made everything seem worse and his foul mood only amplified. There was no way he would allow this to happen again tomorrow; he was going to put his foot down on the matter and be firm in his resolve.

Though he knew Dean wouldn’t actually leave without him, he took no time in changing into a pair of Dean’s jeans and one of his many plaid shirts before shoving everything else into his bag and following Dean out the door. He nodded once at the same receptionist that had checked them in the day before but she didn’t return the gesture, instead rolling her eyes and placing a set of headphones over her ears.

Dean honked the car as Cas exited the building, effectively scaring the former angel and nearly making him drop his bag. Cas could see him laughing in the driver’s seat, which he had to admit would normally, on better days, make him happy. Today, however, wasn’t one of those days. He glowered at the hunter, making a point of slamming shut the trunk of the Impala harder than he needed to, knowing Dean would get the message. Whether he would take that message in stride though was a different story.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Dean teased as Castiel collapsed into the passenger seat. Cas decided that whenever he got the chance, he would set out to buy some headphones and a cheap musical device; not that he would know how to work it, though he figured that Sam could teach him. He needed something to block Dean out sometimes.

“Just drive, Dean,” he said bitterly, turning to face the window. Now that the initial shock of being woken up had faded, he was starting to feel tired again and he yawned.

“Whatever you say,” Dean cranked up the music, looked at Cas and started to sing along; making a show out it either to annoy him more or to actually try and make him feel better—it was really hard to tell which.

A small part of him found it funny and his mouth twitched into the minutest hint of a smile, but the bigger part of him was still hung up on the rude awakening that he hadn’t wanted or needed, and so he didn’t give Dean the benefit of a response. But when he tried to think about something else, only one thing came to mind. Though he had fallen asleep without his usual self-loathing first, his dreams had still been flooded with nightmares that had kept him tossing and turning throughout the night; the only evidence of his restlessness being the state of his blankets and sheets the next day.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Dean asked unexpectedly. Something in Castiel’s expression must have suggested that there was far more to the ex-angel’s attitude and behaviour than just simple exhaustion.

“I’m fine,” Cas sighed.

“Okay, sure, but uh… you know you talk in your sleep, man,” Dean said after turning down the volume on the stereo. “It’s mostly nonsense but, uh, some of it’s coherent.”

“Mmm,” Cas hummed noncommittedly.

“You know none of it was really your fault, right? You didn’t know what Metatron was planning to do,” Dean said, trying to console him, but his words only managed to feed Castiel’s guilt.

Because it was true to an extent: he really hadn’t known that Metatron wasn’t _helping_ him to shutter the angels _inside_ Heaven; that the Scribe was actually _using_ him to expel the angels _out_ of it.

Castiel hadn’t known, but he felt like he should have.

He shouldn’t have been so unwitting. He shouldn’t have been so easily manipulated. And after the suffering he had already inflicted on his siblings in the past, he felt that this was the final nail in the coffin—he could never go back now. He couldn’t possibly repair what he had broken.

Whenever he tried, he somehow managed to break everything even more.

Heaven and the angels were better off in a world in which he didn’t exist; and he had believed this long before the angels fell. It was why he had stayed behind in Purgatory, and it was why he still sometimes wished he had never been brought back to Earth.

Everything was safest when he wasn’t there. Even the Winchesters.

“We’ll gank Metatron,” Dean promised, “hell, I’ll kill him with my bare hands if I have to; don’t you worry.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, Dean,” Castiel mumbled. What he wanted to say was that Metatron was only a part of the problem. Cas himself had played a part and deserved to die just as much as the Scribe.

Dean nodded his head and pursed his lips a little, allowing the subject to drop though Cas could tell that he intended to bring it up again eventually, though it was hard to say when. And Castiel knew he was likely to give Dean the same response when the time came.

He doubted that he’d ever want to talk about it.

“You know what we need? Fast food,” Dean’s tone brightened at the idea of consuming what was bound to be a plateful of fatty meats and grease. Cas had yet to really experience food on the go, mostly just snacking on whatever food the more health-conscious-Sam would bring back to the bunker. Before that he had been eating whatever food he could scrounge up on the streets; whether that be a tin of baked beans given to him out of generosity, a packet of chips from a vending machine bought with loose change he found, or even scraps from the bin. So he hadn’t gained much knowledge on the topic of food either.

Dean pulled the car in at the next fast food diner they came across and he hopped out before Cas had even gotten the chance to see where they were. Obviously the hunter was hungry and unwilling to wait longer than he needed to for food. Cas quickly followed him inside and sat across from him at one of the many empty tables, accepting the menu as it was thrust into his hands by a waitress.

He scanned the list of options, considering them carefully though he didn’t possess enough experience to make an informed decision on what he ought to have. They were all names he recognised, of course; the standard fries and nachos and burgers, but as far as he remembered, they tasted plainly of molecules and he couldn’t wrap his head around foods no longer having any obvious structure. There was flavour now, and that made choosing all the more difficult. So he decided to get whatever Dean was getting.

But then Cas was startled at what came to the table. It was a burger but the size of it was just baffling and there are so many fillings that he couldn’t recognise from just looking at them. He couldn’t understand how Dean could eat so much, and usually in such a short amount of time. Already Dean had dug into his own burger, squashing it down a little between his hands so he could bite into it.

Castiel took a moment to half deconstruct his burger; inspecting each element in turn from the meat patty to the onions and the tomato and lettuce and pickles and cheese. It stopped there when Dean, with his mouth full, suggested he try eating it rather than looking at it. Castiel nodded and pieced it back together, mimicking Dean’s way of eating with fervour after squashing it down and taking a brave bite.

It was a lot to take in at once, each flavour battling for dominance over his taste buds, and he decided he liked it. As he took another few bites, the fillings started to slip out from the bread and fell onto his plate. Dean made what could only be described as a sound of distress and forced himself to swallow before he was really done chewing.

“You’re losing all the best parts! Look, you’ve gotta keep turning it around and taking bites from different sides. That way you don’t imbalance the amount of bread to the amount of fillings, see?” Dean lectured, genuinely a little distraught over how Cas was butchering one of his favourite foods. But then Dean just laughed as he watched the former angel fail to follow his example. “Or just enjoy it any way you want.”

“This method is messy,” Cas complained, his hands now covered in sauce and grease. Back when his vessel had been hungry for red meat whilst under the effects of Famine’s power, he had consumed hundreds of burgers, but they were all neat in that they were made up only of bread, meat and sauce. But what he had here was nothing like that—there was far more to it, and he had yet to get used to it.

“But you like it?” Dean looked hopeful.

“I have to wonder if the struggle is worth the taste, but yes.”

“We all have to wonder that at some point, Cas. But the answer is yes, it is always worth it,” Dean told him, “I’m just glad Sam hasn’t corrupted you with all his rabbit food. The super healthy salads and smoothies…”

Dean suddenly fell quiet, his eyes dimming at the mention of his brother, as if he had forgotten for a moment that he and Sam weren’t talking anymore.

“Dean—” Cas started, thinking perhaps it was time Dean tried calling Sam to see whether they could call truce to their fight.

“You done?” Dean asked and gestured to Castiel’s plate.

“Yes, but—”

“Alright, let’s hit the road then,” Dean cleared his throat and stood up, digging some money from the pocket of his jeans and he tossed the cash down on the middle of the table.

Castiel frowned and wiped his hands clean on a napkin before following Dean back to the car in a dense silence.

Neither of them wanted to say what was gnawing at their minds. Neither of them wanted to discuss the dark cloud that was always looming over them, so they both pretended it simply wasn’t there and hoped that it would go away.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had set at least four hours ago and Castiel’s head was starting to droop and his eyes fluttered shut before snapping open again as he tried to stay awake. Mostly he was just uncomfortable with his neck aching each time his head fell forward and his butt was numb from sitting for so long. He tried to stretch out his legs and shifted from one butt cheek to the other, leaning against the door and then turning the other way to curl more towards Dean, but nothing helped.

But the hunter didn’t seem to be suffering the same way—his eyes were fixed comfortably on the road, his hands still steady in a 9 and 3 position on the steering wheel. Dean had turned the stereo down a couple hours prior, having noticed that Cas was considerably tired; so it was a wonder how he somehow still retained so much focus with nothing to stimulate his senses.  Unless it was solely the cold keeping him awake, whereas it was taking the exact opposite effect on Cas—making him fall asleep even faster.

“Why don’t you try sleeping in the backseat?” Dean suggested finally after he once again nudged Castiel back into an upright position.

Castiel hummed and nodded his head a little.

“That’s… an idea,” he agreed. He ran a hand through his hair once before slowly crawling over the seat into the back of the Impala. He lied down on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the seat.

But then, alone without Dean’s eyes on him, Cas couldn’t sleep. His eyelids felt heavy and his attention was sparse, but still he couldn’t let himself go. His mortality was suddenly so real and physical in his chest and he couldn’t think beyond his missing grace and wings. He shouldn’t feel cramped or tired or cold. He shouldn’t have needed to stop twice for bathroom breaks since going back on the road. But nevertheless, he felt and needed all of those things, and he didn’t have anyone to blame aside from himself. And he imagined how the angels must feel with their own wings torn and useless, their way home sealed and their lives as they knew them, gone. This, too, was something he was held responsible for.

“Dean,” Cas said gruffly, admitting defeat, “I can’t sleep.”

“So, what do you want me to do? Sing you a lullaby?”

Cas actually thought that was a good idea, but he decided not to subject Dean to it. “No. Just… talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything,” Cas just needed the distraction, and he hoped Dean would understand without him having to ask for it.

“Well, alright, uh….” Dean sighed, falling quiet for a moment or two while he thought of what a sufficient distraction would be. “Alright, I’ve got something. You haven’t heard the story of my fight in the quad at high school when I was fifteen?”

“No. I assume it’s a story I need to hear.”

“Well brace yourself because it’s a good one.” Cas could hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Now, my high school experience was short lived, really on and off over the years. Life on the road will do that to you. But there was one week at a school in Nebraska that’ll be all the high school experience I’ll ever need. There was this guy in my history class—massive douchebag, he made Biff Tannen look like a sweetheart.”

“Who?”

“Biff Tannen. He was the bully in… you know what? Never mind. It’s a movie reference,” Dan said dismissively. “Anyway. So this guy decided to make my acquaintance on my first day by shoving me in the hall.”

“Never a good idea,” Cas commented.

“See, you understand. But he didn’t. So this tool shoves me and from that day on it was war.”

“That seems like the appropriate response.”

“It was the _only_ response, Cas. All week he kept busting my balls trying to make my life a living hell. Little did he know my life was already pretty hellish, so he was messing with the wrong guy. Then on that fateful day, he and his fellow boyband members corner me in the quad and—”

“Did you kill him?”

“What? No! No, this wasn’t a literal war, Cas. It was just high school.”

“My mistake. Please continue.” Castiel yawned.

“Right, so they corner me in the quad and decide to throw down with me. Now, obviously that was stupid of them, and what’s a guy to do except defend himself? I bet you’ve never seen so many teenagers on the ground with bloody noses and black eyes. Seriously, I think you’d be impressed. I was on my game. I must have looked like such a badass… but of course I ended up getting expelled. Like it mattered. We never stayed in one place long… Cas?”

Cas hummed again but he couldn’t open his eyes anymore. Dean’s story was the distraction he needed. Or rather, Dean’s voice was. It wouldn’t have mattered what Dean decided to talk about, because it wasn’t so much the words but rather the fact Dean was there to say them that made all the difference. Like having Dean there in the next bed the night before. Just having Dean nearby allowed him to forget his troubles.

Dean somehow made everything better, even if only for a little while.

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean said softly before Castiel fell asleep.

That night, the nightmares weren’t enough to make him toss and turn; he slept soundly and well.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up, Castiel realised that the car was stationary, and he was alone. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked out the window to try and orientate himself. The clock on the dash read 8:06am, and even that was early for Cas, but he had no intention of rolling back over and going back to sleep. At least not without knowing Dean’s whereabouts.

It appeared as though they were stopped at a gas station, though it was impossible to tell where, and Cas decided that it didn’t matter. It didn’t seem as though there was an itinerary for their road trip, and there wasn’t a destination in mind either, which gave the journey a sense of endlessness—as if the two of them would be on the road forever. Castiel liked the sound of that though deep down he knew it wasn’t really the case. They would eventually have to return to the bunker, and Sam and Dean would resume their hunting and Cas would bury himself in the fictitious worlds from the television screen.

Until then he decided to enjoy the experience while it lasted.

He looked around the lot and soon saw Dean approaching the car with two coffee cups in hand and a plastic bag hanging off his arm. Cas dragged himself back into the front seat of the car and tried to neaten his hair with his fingers; using the rear-view mirror to appraise his reflection.

Despite being rested, he still looked tired with the pale shadow of bags under his eyes and he realised then that he actually looked more human than he ever had before despite always having a human vessel. He hadn’t known just how much of a difference being without his grace made on him, even down to the minute details. Before now it had always been about mortality and the constant need to eat, sleep and use the restroom amongst many other daunting human tasks. Everything else had slipped by unnoticed, and he had to wonder if Dean had seen the changes even when he himself couldn’t.

Dean climbed back into the driver’s seat and handed Castiel one of the cups of coffee. “I didn’t know how you’d like it now that you have tastebuds, or rather that your tastebuds actually work now… which is it?”

“This is a vessel, Dean. It’s always been anatomically correct with the inclusion of tastebuds. They simply just didn’t work the same way as yours while I had my grace.”

“Right, well now that that’s cleared up. I didn’t know how you’d like your coffee now that your tastebuds are functional so I just got it black, the way you used to drink it. But I’ve got some sachets of sugar in my pocket if you wanna sweeten it up.”

“Black is fine. Thank you,” Cas said and took a sip, immediately scalding his tongue. It wasn’t the first time that he had forgotten that he needed to blow on hot beverages to cool them down a little before drinking them. He winced and shook his head, deciding to hold onto the remainder of his coffee for now before drinking it.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Dean laughed and started the car, “maybe next time I’ll remind you. Or I’ll stick a big bright warning label on it. Waddya say?”

“I know you’re trying to tease me, but those aren’t awful ideas,” Castiel granted and tried to ignore the pain in his tongue. It wouldn’t matter now if he didn’t like black coffee because he wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway.

“I’m full of good ideas,” Dean said and tossed the plastic bag onto Castiel’s lap. “I got you some more reading material. I figured these might be more to your liking.”

Cas took them out and inspected the covers, recognising them to be mostly about science and nature, though there were also a couple on music which he figured Dean had bought with the intention of broadening Castiel’s musical knowledge. As he turned to the next one he saw that the cover was of a woman kneeling on the beach wearing a revealing bikini, her torso dusted with sand and her blonde hair slightly wet and windswept.

“Oh, that one is for me,” Dean said, grinning like a silly schoolboy as he reached over and took it out of Castiel’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. “Though feel free to borrow it if you want.”

“I’m good, thank you,” Cas mumbled, trying to keep the colour out of his cheeks.

He tried not to think about when Dean was going to find time to peruse that particular magazine later on during their trip. He didn’t want to have to think about what Dean must be doing if he ever happened to be in the bathroom for longer than usual or if he suddenly decided to take a short drive by himself someplace.

Cas didn’t like to think about it because it was hard to think about Dean that way without getting… well, hard.

It was a problem he had started experiencing not long after arriving at the bunker. First it just seemed to happen on its own without explanation when he woke up, and he would just leave it to pass on its own. But then it started happening other times too, and often times when he really, really didn’t want it to. Like the time he ran into Dean as the hunter was coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Or the time that he had accidentally walked into Dean’s bedroom without knocking and caught him in the process of getting dressed.

Each time it came up—literally—he had to be subtle in hiding it and usually just excused himself to go to his bedroom. And for a while he just waited until it was okay to emerge from his room as if nothing had happened. But of course then he found a faster and more enjoyable method of dealing with it.

He’d known the concept of masturbation for a long time but hadn’t ever practiced it before since as an angel his sex drive had been limited and fairly repressed. But when he started, he realised it was actually rather simple, and it felt better than he had expected it to.

And from Dean’s comment on lending him the nude magazine, he realised that maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought. It sounded as if Dean knew what Castiel was sometimes doing behind closed doors, which now embarrassed him. He was worried that perhaps if Dean knew that he had been pleasuring himself, then maybe he also knew what, or rather who, Castiel thought about whilst doing it.

 He didn’t have an appropriate response prepared in case Dean brought it up, but apparently he needn’t had worried, because Dean didn’t say a word about it.

Eventually the pink in his cheeks faded. He opened one of the magazines Dean had given him and found that he did in fact like it more than the one he had purchased the previous day. The articles here were longer and more informative and didn’t rely on rumours but rather on studies and facts. It was logic he could understand, some of which he already retained more knowledge on since he had been there to witness the process of how things evolved and the intricacies of the universe.

For a while he lost himself in it, even sometimes sharing bits and pieces he found especially fascinating, and he often expanded upon it with what he already knew; stopping only to take sips of his coffee. He could tell from Dean’s expression that his recollection of facts was starting to bore him, but the hunter hadn’t asked him to stop either; instead allowing the former angel to ramble on. It made Castiel feel better just to be able to focus his attention on something else for a while.

But then he started to feel queasy and his face turned a little pale. He lowered the magazine and closed it without much thought as to whether he had actually finished reading the article or not.

“I don’t feel well, Dean,” he said.

“You’re just travel sick. Try looking out the window for a while,” Dean instructed.

Cas did as he said, gazing out the window to the forest passing them in a blur. After a few minutes he found that it did help settle his stomach a little, but his face retained that pale quality it had before and Dean decided to pull over for a while, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs.

Castiel was relieved at having a chance to rest and stretch his own legs and even breathe in some of the cool fresh air. He got out and leaned against the side of the car, inhaling deeply and soon felt the queasiness fade even more. Dean went to the back of the car and pulled two beers from the esky in the trunk.

“Come sit with me,” Dean invited Cas, gesturing to the hood of the Impala.

Cas scooted up onto it with his back half leaning against the windshield and was careful not to damage the paint with the heels of his shoes. Dean settled himself at his side and offered him a beer. Castiel doubted that the alcohol would do him much good but took it anyway and opened it without taking a sip. Dean however, took a large swig and leaned back against the windshield, closing his eyes. Cas tried to mimic him but ended up staring at the hunter instead; appraising the look of contentedness on the hunter’s face. He observed the length of Dean’s eyelashes and the faint spattering of freckles on his nose, and gazed at Dean’s lips for a few moments longer than he probably should. He looked away only when Dean opened his eyes.

Before this road trip they hadn’t had much time to simply be in the pleasure of each other’s company. Something just always seemed to get in the way and circumstances often kept them apart, even sometimes for extended periods of time in which Cas often found himself missing the Winchesters. They were his only true friends and without them he sometimes felt lost. He’d longed for a chance for them to be like this where they could just relax and didn’t have to run off into the next sign of danger that came their way.

This was the first time that the opportunity had truly presented itself.

They didn’t even need to say a single word to each other now, instead just sitting together in silence and sipping their beers and feeling the cool Fall breeze on their faces. The sun was starting to set and the light slowly dimmed until they were settled in a pale orange glow with the darkness of nightfall creeping in steadily from above.

It wasn’t until the biting wind started to numb the tips of their noses that they decided to get back into the Impala and drive off into the sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! Please leave a review or a kudos for this story if you're enjoying it so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s your turn,” Dean said, gesturing wildly at the small television set. The sound had once again faded out until it appeared that the people pictured on the screen were simply miming.

“I distinctly remember getting up the last two times since you complained that your leg was asleep,” Castiel argued, crossing his arms in a display of defiance. Dean had been taking advantage of him and easily manipulating him into doing all the work.

“It’s still asleep,” Dean huffed, “please, I can’t stand it without sound. I can’t read lips.”

“If you dislike it so much then you can get up and fix it yourself.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Dean asked doubtfully, not believing him even for a second.

“Not as much as it does you,” Castiel answered honestly. Though it was annoying, he could still probably manage it for another half hour or so before either relenting to get up and fix it or to switch it off altogether.

They had stopped at a hotel that somehow proved to be even worse than the last one: with the carpet and wallpaper even more dilapidated than what Cas had already seen so far. Worse though was the strange smell that permeated the room. They had already tried opening the one, small solitary window on the far wall to air out the room, but the smell still lingered. And neither of them could describe what the odour actually was—each time they thought they had the appropriate descriptor they ended up reconsidering and deciding that it was something else entirely. It took them an hour before giving up on trying to label it and had simply tried to ignore it ever since. But time had done nothing to dull their senses.

At the very least they had hoped that maybe they could distract themselves from it, but the TV was outdated and only had three channels that worked, and they had been arguing for hours before compromising and switching between two of the shows during ad breaks. The picture quality was barely passable, with the faces on screen sometimes not having any distinction so much so that they occasionally looked faceless. Still, they endured, since there was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

Once or twice Cas had seen Dean’s eyes flicker to the magazines sitting on the kitchen counter, and he had known exactly what the hunter was thinking about. He blushed again at the thought of it and had set out to try and keep Dean’s mind occupied elsewhere. The one time Dean had used the bathroom, Castiel had held his breath and waited to see if he would take the magazine with him, but he had walked right past it and emerged from the restroom only a minute or two later, and only then did Cas exhale. 

While the television shows were boring, Dean’s constant commentary was not and Cas was entertained less by what was happening on the screen and more by what was coming out of Dean’s mouth. That was the only reason he hadn’t already gotten into bed to just lie there out of boredom. Since being human, he had found that he didn’t hold the same patience that he had before and he was always in need of something to do or think about.

Dean groaned and got up from his chair, making a show of limping all the while, to smack the side of the TV which they had learned would temporarily fix the volume before it would inevitably disappear again.

“Next time it is definitely your turn,” Dean said as he slumped back down beside Castiel on the couch, gesturing again at the TV, “this bullshit seems hardly worth the effort.”

Cas stiffened when Dean’s shoulder brushed up against his and their thighs pressed flush together as they tried to both fit on the chair that wasn’t equipped to fit two fully grown men. Dean made himself comfortable though there wasn’t much room to share; leaning against the armrest on his right and wrapping his left arm around the back of the couch behind Castiel’s head. He could feel the material of Dean’s sleeve brushing against the back of his neck.

“Well, what do you normally watch?” Cas asked curiously, making an effort now to talk so he wasn’t so conscious of Dean being so close to him. “Aside from porn of course.” His cheeks flushed again.

“Hey, I don’t watch porn all the time. Okay. I’m not fourteen years old,” Dean defended himself quickly.

“Your internet history would suggest otherwise,” Cas commented, raising an eyebrow at the hunter.

“Why on earth were you looking at my browser history?” Dean demanded to know, turning to face him, his eyes suddenly wide and confused. Their faces weren’t far from each other’s and Castiel’s eyes briefly glanced down at Dean’s lips before flickering quickly back to retain eye contact.

“Out of curiosity.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little invasive?”

“No. It interests me.”

“Well now I just feel dirty,” Dean cringed, pretending to shudder, and he looked back at the TV in mock interest at what was actually happening on the screen. Cas knew that if he were to ask Dean what the show was about, he wouldn’t be able to give an answer; especially not the right one.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Cas insisted.

“What question?”

“What do you normally watch?”

“Oh. Well, I dunno. Different stuff, but mostly movies; horror movies specifically. Somehow they’re still fun to watch though they lose their edge a bit when you actually kill monsters for a living,” Dean explained thoughtfully. “It’s just kinda hard to keep up with the times, you know? I don’t remember seeing a movie that came out after the 90s.”

“Sam said that you watch trash TV,” Castiel said though he didn’t fully understand what that entailed.

“Hey, that’s not true. I watch stuff with substance,” Dean argued. It didn’t fail Castiel’s attention that Dean’s arms crossed at the mention of Sam. Finally, Cas’ shoulders could relax now that Dean didn’t have his hand almost brushing against his left shoulder.

“He also said that you would say that. So who am I to believe?”

“Well, me obviously. Sam likes to act all high and mighty and sophisticated, but I know for a fact that he likes watching _Sex and the City_ ,” Dean said.

“Sam has seen you watching it as well,” Castiel told him.

“Jesus Christ, what are you two like best friends now?” Dean looked incredulous at the fact that his name apparently appeared frequently in the conversations his brother and Cas have with each other.

“Yes,” Castiel replied seriously, blinking innocently all the while.

“Okay, look, maybe I have seen one or two episodes, alright? There was nothing else on and I was bored so I watched it… besides, there’s something about that Samantha. She’s fiery. I like fiery women.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Castiel admitted. “Fiery doesn’t sound like a complimentary adjective to apply to a person.”

Dean smiled fondly at the former angel. “I don’t think fiery is your type. You’ve had enough women like that in your life.”

“Meg was fiery?” Cas asked, his brow furrowing.

“She wasn’t boring, let’s just put it that way,” Dean laughed and clapped Cas on the back.

Castiel stared at him, still confused as to what he meant, but it was clear that Dean wasn’t going to expand on it. At least not tonight.

“I’m beat,” Dean said and switched off the TV. “I’m gonna try and get my four hours. Do you wanna shower first or can I go?”

“You go,” Cas answered, getting up to ready his bed to sleep in as Dean locked the bathroom door.

His mind was elsewhere now, thinking that if fiery wasn’t his type, then what was?

 

* * *

 

 

For lunch the next day the two of them settled into a booth at a pub in the next town over, Dean looking at ease in a familiar environment while Cas had yet to really understand the appeal of uncomfortable chairs and music that played too loudly.

Though Cas did appreciate observing the types of people that visited small town bars like this. Dean, a hardened hunter, looked rather soft in comparison with some of the men sitting hunchbacked at the bar; their faces rugged with full-grown beards and their thick biceps littered with an array of dark tattoos. Even sitting down Cas could tell that they would tower over Dean were they to ever stand side by side. But despite their appearances they were all rather gentle in nature; never really speaking to one another and just quietly drinking their beers while blankly watching sports on the TV.

Dean described them as the daytime giants, and informed Castiel that the same people were much rowdier at night when they switched their beer out for much harder liquor. This was the only reason why Castiel remained cautious and purposely avoided making eye contact—as both Sam and Dean had told him that most strangers might not take kindly to being stared at. He thought it was best not to set them off. It was hard to say whether he could hold up in a fight anymore; not since his reflexes had slowed considerably and all his power had been stripped from him. As it turned out, skill couldn’t always combat strength. And he wasn’t about to test it anytime soon. But he sometimes thought he seemed foolish sitting there beside the hunter with nothing to offer him, not even the protection he was once able to provide.

“Hi, my name is Veronica and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you?”

Castiel hadn’t seen the waitress approach their table but Dean looked suave, confident and prepared as he leant his arms against the table, his head tilted to the side. Dean’s lips quirked into an easy smile and his eyes gleamed with an irresistible shimmer of misdeed, and Cas could only watch with a pang of jealousy settling in his gut.

“Well hello, Veronica. It’s nice to see service with such a nice smile,” Dean replied smoothly.

“It’s part of the job,” she said plainly, holding her pen poised to paper in wait for their order. She gave Dean a once over but her expression remained blank, the smile instantly fading into a near scowl. Evidently she was used to being hit on by her patrons, probably even hearing much cruder comments that focused less on her face and more on her body. She wasn’t having any of it.

“Right, uh… good job,” Dean said awkwardly, looking down at the table as he attempted to keep a straight face.

“Would you mind ordering now? I have other customers to serve,” she asked, her patience quickly wearing thin.

“Steak, well done, with fries,” Castiel ordered and handed her his menu. He looked around at the few other patrons at the bar and even he was able to tell that they had no intention of eating anything—she just had no desire to be at their table any longer than she absolutely needed to.

“Uh, steak as well thanks. Medium rare,” Dean said, his eyes darting back and forth over his menu, evidently wishing he had more time to consider his options, but he had cracked under the pressure of the server’s disapproving gaze.

The waitress jotted down their order and swept away from the table, leaving Dean behind in a daze, his mouth agape and his eyebrows comically raised up his forehead. Castiel snickered softly and took a sip from his complimentary glass of water, but it was too late to try and mask his amusement.

“It’s not funny, Cas. I can’t remember the last time I struck out before even trying to swing,” Dean kicked Cas under the table and then squirmed in his seat. The hunter tugged hopelessly on the hem of his t-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles in the material.

“So you didn’t initiate a poor attempt at flirtation just now? Such a nice smile?”

“No! I, uh… no,” Dean squirmed again sheepishly, “I was just warming up. Easing into it.”

Castiel’s shoulders shook a little as he laughed quietly, his head dipped forward so Dean couldn’t see his face.

“Look, I can make the girls swoon when I’m on my game. I’m just rusty at the moment,” Dean attested, kicking Cas’ leg again. This time his foot lingered against Castiel’s shin, the toe of his boot almost creeping under the hem of his jeans at the ankle. Castiel rubbed the back of his neck roughly and swallowed firmly.

“I’m well aware of your extensive history of having sexual relations with various women…. That’s why I’m simply baffled that you couldn’t seduce a waitress in a quiet bar with no current contenders for her affection. Does my presence distract you?”

Dean actually flushed a little. Cas could see the heat travelling up Dean’s neck and into his cheeks. He wasn’t sure whether that was an indicator that Dean was embarrassed by his question, or he thought it was just hot in the room.

“Can we forget about it? I’d rather not have my failures hanging over my head like a guillotine,” Dean cleared his throat and then drank half of his water in three large swigs. Dean’s foot moved away from Castiel’s leg.

“Well, alright,” Cas agreed, thinking for a moment.

He recalled their conversation the night before about how fiery was not his type, and he had to wonder what Dean’s was. Cas knew of some of the women in the hunter’s past and had occasionally seen him flirting more successfully with barmaids and hotel receptionists amongst many others; but none of them ever really stuck. Dean’s relationships were short lived; usually just existing for a few hours in what Sam referred to as a one night stand, after which they would go their separate ways.

Castiel realised that Dean’s life on the road made his love life fleeting.

He had to ponder the idea that maybe the women Dean so often affiliated himself with weren’t the type of people he would settle for had he the option of a genuine relationship. And if so, was that something the hunter wished to have? Did he desire something more?

“Do you ever resent being a hunter?” Cas asked.

“What part of it? The blood and the screams? Having every monster under the sun try and rip my head from my shoulders?”

“Life on the road. Never settling in one place.”

“Well, it’s no picnic. Seedy hotel rooms and whatnot. Your whole life in a duffel bag. I mean, this…” Dean gestured to the bar, “this is me giving you the gold class tour of what it’s like. What a hunter’s holiday might be.”

“So you do resent it,” Cas said, mindlessly tracing the brim of his glass of water using his pinkie finger.

“It’s got its perks too. You know—you see a lot, meet some interesting people, save some lives and all that.”

“But don’t you want it to end one day? Just to stop and stay in one place? To be with someone for more than a night?”

Castiel was trying hard to understand. It all seemed so easy when he was an angel: there was always a duty to work, someone important to protect or a problem to solve. It made sense to do those things when his species dictated that was the purpose he was there to serve. Even when he rebelled for the Winchesters he just tied himself to a new mission and committed his time and attention to keeping them alive. But since becoming mortal, he had realised that humans weren’t programmed the same way. They weren’t created to do any one thing and freedom came as a natural desire that so often seemed just within reach.

So why wouldn’t Dean succumb to it?

“You know I tried to do that and it didn’t work for me. It’s just… it’s a good idea in theory but it’s far more complicated in practice.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I guess because I just couldn’t pretend that I lived in a world free of monsters. I couldn’t sleep at night without a shotgun and holy water under my bed. I couldn’t walk the streets without a silver dagger tucked into my belt. Hell, I couldn’t even read the paper without seeing cases that were being left unsolved because I’d decided to try a hand at playing normal.”

Cas opened his mouth to respond but then the waitress returned with their meals. She wordlessly set the plates down and walked away, leaving the two of them staring at one another in an abrupt silence.

“Dean… you deserved a normal life. You still do,” Castiel said eventually and then gnawed a little on his lip. Dean truly did deserve a life of normality with a normal job and a family and house to call his home, but Castiel didn’t. He couldn’t have that even if he somehow found a way to one day forgive himself for the tragedy he had caused.

Cas fell quiet and cut into his steak; sawing at the meat with more ferocity than it required. This didn’t escape Dean’s notice.

“Calm down, Cas, it’s already dead,” Dean commented, his brow furrowed in concern. “Actually, yours is just completely butchered. Who ruins a perfectly good steak by having it well done? I can’t even watch you eat it.”

“I like it cooked,” Cas stabbed at it with his fork.

Dean looked down at his own plate and prodded his steak with his knife and fork, “These are the smallest cuts I’ve ever seen.”

“That might have something to do with you hitting on the waitress,” Cas theorised aloud.

“I barely hit on her. That was more like a compliment,” Dean argued.

“A compliment completely void of ulterior motive?” Cas cast him a knowing look and waited to see if Dean would dare lie.

Dean flashed an audacious smile and casually shrugged his shoulders in a very what-can-you-do manner. Dean was nothing if not valiant in his sexual endeavours; so it was curious as to why he would ever take such a tame approach. Unless of course he never expected he’d need to try so hard.

Cas envied his confidence.

He went back to picking at his food and inspected a small green herb from the top of his steak. He held and grinded it between his thumb and forefinger, and gave it a curious sniff. Whatever it was, he couldn’t identify it and couldn’t recognise the faint scent either though his first thought was that it appeared fresh. Cautiously, he put the herb into his mouth and chewed; instantly regretting it when it got stuck in his teeth and felt dry on his tongue. Though only mildly bitter, Cas found it to be assault on his senses and his face wrinkled up in distaste.

“What is this? Has someone just poisoned me? He asked, looking at Dean with wide, panic-stricken eyes.

Dean laughed and handed him a napkin, “that’s just a garnish, you idiot. I don’t know anybody who actually eats that.”

“Then why is it there?!” Cas demanded to know, spitting into the napkin and wiping his mouth. He could still feel and taste it in his teeth and at the back of his tongue.

“For aesthetic, I guess,” Dean made no effort to halt his laughter and wiped tears of delight from his eyes.

“Where were you with the warning sticker?” Castiel huffed and finished his water and then drank the leftovers of Dean’s glass too for good measure.

“I told you I couldn’t even watch you eat a well done steak,” Dean reminded him, holding his hands up as a display of innocence.

“Yeah well, I didn’t eat the steak, I ate the garnish,” Cas was still distraught over his negative experience and knew his trust was now forever tested. His readiness to try new things had just understandably dimmed. “Why would they do such a thing to their food? Just for appearances sake? Because that’s insane.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. I’ll try warning you next time. I don’t think you’d survive an encounter with coriander.”

“You humans make some awfully strange choices,” Cas commented.

“We humans,” Dean corrected without giving it much thought, his attention back on his own food. “You’re one of us now: body slowly rotting every day. Wandering hopelessly in search for meaning.”

Cas dipped his head again and rested his chin on his hand, his expression heavy and his shoulders slumped. “We humans,” he agreed quietly. He pushed his unfinished meal away, his appetite suddenly and completely lost. Standing up, Castiel excused himself from the table and told Dean he would wait in the car. Dean stared up at him, taken aback and obviously hurt, but was quick to follow Castiel out.

The former angel got into the passenger seat closed his eyes.

Wingless, he had no other place to go.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean hadn’t switched the heating on in the Impala despite the icy air that was surely tickling both of them through the jumpers; leaving them with goose bumps up their arms and legs. Cas had his legs crossed on the seat after taking his shoes off without having to be asked by Dean, knowing he would be concerned about the leather. He stared at his hands clasped in his lap, wringing his thumbs together slowly while he was lost within himself.

He hadn’t wanted to cause a scene back at the pub, but after seeing the hunter’s expression when he had slid into the driver’s seat, Cas realised that walking out the way he had still counted as one. He hadn’t raised his voice or drawn anyone else’s attention in any way, but Dean appeared to be troubled as if he had done just that. And he felt guilt at having made something out of nothing and dragging Dean away from a lunch that had been going relatively well; unrequited flirtation with waitresses and eating aesthetic garnishes aside.

Now he had made everything uncomfortable between them.

The radio was quiet and did nothing to interrupt the silence that had fallen between them during the drive back to the motel, but neither of them reached out to turn up the volume; though Castiel’s hand had twitched a few times as he tried to draw enough courage to do it.

The window was cool and fogging as the car became warmer on the inside than the outside from their body temperatures. He didn’t dare rub the fog with his sleeve, instead opting to view the world through a veil of mist where all the colours between the grey sky and black road blurred. But he recognised the stark red motel in which they were staying as it passed them by and he quickly turned to look at Dean who seemed oblivious to having driven straight past it.

“Dean? The motel is back that way,” Cas said, breaking the silence finally and he sat upright in his chair to gesture back the way they had come.

“I know,” Dean acknowledged but made no effort to turn the car around. The hunter stared straight ahead, leaning forward once to wipe the windshield with the palm of his hand so he could see through the fogged glass. “We’re just gonna keep driving for a while.”

Cas slowly settled back down in his seat, his shoulders trembling from the cold and his pale lips quivered. “Can’t we turn on the heater?” He asked tersely, suddenly annoyed to be in this position where he couldn’t escape the discomfort he had created. He didn’t understand why Dean would subject them both to what they obviously wanted to evade.

“No. It’ll just fog up the windows more,” Dean said and switched the stereo off entirely at the exact same time Castiel went to turn it up. Cas’ hand hovered there for a moment, wondering if he dared to defy Dean and turn it back on. But he knew that Dean must have questions, and after having stormed out of the bar, he thought he should probably answer them—no matter how much he really didn’t want to.

“Look, Cas… this is obviously about what I said. The human thing… and I’m sorry. I think I just got kinda used to this, you know? It gets easy sometimes to forget that you didn’t ask for this to happen.” Dean said.

“It isn’t your fault, Dean. I just…,” Cas sighed, his expression knitting into a grimace, “I’m sorry I walked out like that. I didn’t let you finish your steak.”

Dean actually let out a quiet, breathy laugh, “you think I’m upset at you over the steak?”

“Isn’t that why we’re still driving? I caused a scene and insulted your hospitality and made you leave your food behind without finishing it.”

“No, Cas, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the steak. I’m upset at myself for putting my foot in my mouth and making you feel the need to get up and leave in the first place,” Dean assured him.

Castiel shivered again and finally gave into the cold, shifting across in his seat so he was leaning against Dean’s side for warmth. Dean allowed Cas to sit so close but the former angel decided not to press his luck and try resting his cold cheek against the hunter’s shoulder. That was something that he understood would probably breach Dean’s personal space—a concept that seemed to be a metaphorical bubble from which Dean sometimes ventured out whenever he stood close to Cas or embraced him. Cas never ventured into the bubble anymore though he oftentimes wanted to. This was the first time in a long while that he had crossed that line without first being invited.

“This whole angel-to-human stuff still bothers you. I know that and I get it. But I don’t get why you won’t just talk about it,” Dean continued once Castiel was settled against his side.

Cas shrugged one shoulder and closed his eyes. Dean was warm, and he now had that scent about him of his spiced cologne and the sugary pie he had eaten for breakfast that morning. Today, Dean smelt sweeter, but just as nice, and Cas breathed him in.

“Cas?” Dean asked and touched the former angel’s knee, squeezing it gently once as if to make sure he wasn’t falling asleep on his shoulder.

“I’m just not ready yet, Dean,” Cas explained gently, opening his eyes again to peer out the windshield where Dean had once again reached out to clear the fog from the glass.

From here Cas could see the edges of a blue sky on the horizon that promised to take any and all warmth away. He could see the sun dipping at the edge of the tree line, glowing orange as the day approached its closing. Cas understood the intricacies of nature and why the sun would rise and set the exact way it did; he understood it in ways that science couldn’t explain, and that’s what made it feel like a beacon calling him home. The home he was no longer welcome to. The home where he didn’t belong.

“Heaven wasn’t perfect, Dean, not by any means… but it was still home. It was all I knew for a very long time and now it’s all gone.” Cas reached one hand up and clutched onto Dean’s sleeve.

He hadn’t noticed when it was that Dean had turned the car around, but now they were pulling back in at the motel. Cas sat back and shuffled back over to his side of the seat, his hand already clasping the door handle in anticipation to get out.

“This car is so much slower than flying,” he mumbled before opening the door. He ignored the sun as it continued to set at his back: the beacon slowly fading until it was no longer there to call him home.

 

* * *

 

 

Though they had discussed the events at the pub a few hours prior, neither of them had made an effort to strike up a conversation. Instead, upon coming in through the motel door, they had each gone about doing their own things. Castiel had taken a long shower before changing into his pyjamas early for the night, leaving Dean to browse the web on his laptop, before they switched places and Dean took the bathroom and Cas the couch. But it was comfortable. They circled each other in what felt like a familiar pattern in which no words were needed to express what it was they wanted to do.

And they had worked like that for the entire evening until Cas got up to get a glass of water. Dean approached him in the kitchen and without needing to ask if he wanted it, Cas poured an extra glass and held it out towards the hunter who didn’t take it straight away.

“Thanks,” Dean said whilst appraising Castiel was a crooked smile. “We’ve really gotta get you your own clothes, Cas. Look at these pants, they just seem to fall right off you.”

Cas took a quick look at himself, suddenly growing concerned that perhaps the pants had slid down further than he was used to; but no, they were still settled low on his hips. Any time he would feel them slip he would tug them up again without ever giving it much thought.

“They’re okay…” Cas replied, shrugging his shoulders, but then his breath hitched when Dean hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Castiel’s pyjamas and slowly traced them along his stomach before gently pulling the material back up over his hips—Dean’s calloused knuckles brushing against his skin all the while. Neither of them spoke and Dean’s fingers stayed hooked there at his hips for a few moments too long before the hunter finally took a step back. Dean cleared his throat and took the glass of water that Castiel forgot he was holding in his hand. The former angel was dumbstruck. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest and his mind continued to spin long after Dean had disappeared into the bathroom.

Cas swallowed thickly and then licked at his lips, resting one hand against the kitchen counter since he now felt so weak at the knees. He knew that if he wasn’t careful he would find himself in a hard situation in which he would need to either hide and wait it out or, preferably, find somewhere quiet where he could quickly deal with it. But in a small motel room, with the two beds sitting side by side, and with Dean already occupying the bathroom, there was nowhere he could go. His only option now was to try and distract himself and hope that he could control the already growing bulge in his boxers.

He could hear the water running in the bathroom and it occurred to him that Dean had already showered not even an hour before, but he figured that meant that maybe Dean knew what Cas was thinking and was now finding any way possible to distance himself from the former angel.

Which made Cas feel like it was somehow his fault.

But he had never intended to be drawn to his friend; attracted to his emerald eyes and his damn-kissable lips and his broad shoulders and…  Cas had to stop and focus on something else. Anything else. Still in a daze, he dragged one of the blankets from the bed and settled himself on the couch; purposely laying the blanket over his lap in case he needed to conceal himself from Dean. But he needn’t had worried, because it was a long time before Dean opened the bathroom door and peeked his head out.

“You mind getting me my razor from my bag?” Dean asked, his face already covered in white foam.

Castiel nodded quickly and waited for Dean to duck back into the bathroom before daring to get up from the couch to retrieve the razor for him. Cas kept his distance and held his arm through the open door, keeping his eyes averted to the TV though there was nothing on. He felt Dean’s fingers brush against his hand as he took the razor from him and Cas withdrew his hand and quickly buried himself beneath the blanket again.

How could Dean so easily act as if nothing had happened? How could he pretend that his fingers hadn’t been in Castiel’s waistband? That his hands hadn’t trailed along the ex-angels hipbones? Did it not occur to Dean the way it did to Castiel that the hunter could have easily pulled the pyjama pants down instead of up? Cas shivered at the thought and he turned up the volume of the television in an attempt to force the idea out of his mind.

“Do you have to keep changing channels like that, Cas?” Dean called out from the bathroom, the door sitting ajar as he stood at the sink with half a face of shaving cream left on his chin. Cas brought his knees up to his chest and continued clicking the remote repeatedly from channel to channel without settling on a single one.

“It’s just commercials,” he complained, trying to sound innocent and afflicted only by some kind of unfathomable boredom and nothing else: like a sexual attraction to his best friend as an example.

“So pick a commercial and stick with it,” Dean said, tapping the razor free of excess water on the edge of the sink.

Cas did as he was told and tossed the remote to the end of the couch and rested his chin on his knees. He had hoped for a show that was substantial enough to distract him for the remainder of the evening and now really wished they hadn’t left the bunker where there was Netflix with seasons he could binge watch for hours.

Now he had to resort to a commercial of a woman in a bikini sitting on the beach eating a burger. The camera slowly panned in on her and focused on the sauce dripping from the burger onto her hand, the focus trailing from her mouth to her breasts with the actual burger barely in frame.

Castiel tilted his head in contemplation, his lips slightly puckered in confusion and he squinted at the television as he tried to see if there was a message he wasn’t receiving or a point he wasn’t getting. But still, after five different commercials played with no breasts or burgers in sight, he didn’t understand—though so far it was the only ad he remembered. His mind was blank of another he could compare it to.

“Dean? In what way do breasts correlate with burgers?” He asked seriously.

“They don’t, Cas,” Dean responded as he wiped the remainder of the shaving cream from his face using a towel.

“But she was eating a burger and there was a distinct focus on her breasts. It has to mean something,” Castiel insisted and glanced up as the hunter stood leaning in the doorway.

Dean’s face was alight with a subtle hint of a smile, “it’s just marketing, buddy. Sex sells.”

“Isn’t that called prostitution?” Cas was confused and looked back at the television.

“Oh boy,” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Why do you think Fifty Shades of Whatever sold as well as it did though they’re terrible books?”

“You read those?” Cas asked, surprised.

Dean blushed a little and started to dig in Castiel’s bag, hiding his face from the former angel, “Absolutely not… I just… peeked at them.”

“Okay… well, I still don’t understand.”

“Doesn’t matter, Cas. I’ll explain it to you another time,” Dean said and tossed a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt at Castiel who instinctively put up his hands and caught them. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Going out where?” Cas asked, getting up and edging his way slowly into the bathroom to change his clothes.

“To a bar. Heavy drinking, I think, is an American pastime, and it’s a road trip tradition,” Dean explained with a devilish grin.

The idea of going out and drinking at a bar wasn’t all that appealing to Castiel, but Dean just looked so eager and clearly wanted to show the former angel a good time, so Cas made no argument about it. He didn’t insist they stay at the motel and watch commercials until they were tired enough to sleep, he didn’t suggest that they just go for a late night drive and listen to Dean’s music, or that they just have a beer or two and reread magazines—minus the pornographic one Dean purchased. They were all tame ideas that he knew wouldn’t pass over well with the restless hunter who wanted Castiel to have the real road trip experience, so Cas didn’t bother voicing them.

Instead he decided to take it in stride and give Dean what he wanted and hoped that it made the hunter happy.

“Oh, Cas… I was just thinking of what we should do for lunch tomorrow. Any ideas?” Dean said as he picked up the keys from the kitchen counter.

Cas gave it about thirty seconds of thought. “I don’t know. Maybe burgers?” He suggested innocently. Then he didn’t understand the sudden smirk that played obviously at Dean’s lips.

“And another one bites the dust,” Dean said, laughing at Castiel’s obvious confusion as he ushered the former angel out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one drunken night.

Music could be faintly heard from the bar even in the parking lot as they got out of the car, and Cas bit his lip in quiet hesitation, suddenly unsure as to whether he truly dared going in. Dean had described bars like this in the past as having rowdy patrons that crowded the room with their overflowing beers sloshing onto people’s shoes; smoke from their cigarettes clouding the room in a malodourous haze that never seemed to dissipate.

His words had painted a picture in Castiel’s mind of a place that held little appeal to most people, and no appeal at all to him. Since discovering his own taste in soft, melodic music and the comfort of loose pyjamas and the fascination of HBO, Cas was able to determine what experiences he would or would not enjoy without having to actually try them first. And a bar like this was, he figured, one on the not-enjoy-list.

He looked at Dean with anxiety evident in his eyes and Dean clapped him once on the shoulder and gave his arm a gentle squeeze, assuring him with a smile that there was nothing to worry about. Supposedly, or at least according to Dean, this was something all travellers did at least once, and none of them would ever regret it even if they did wake up on the curb without their wallet and keys or if they found out later that they had been thrown out for being too intoxicated and making a scene. Despite saying that the positives outweighed those negative outcomes, Dean failed to convince him, and so he went in feeling just as nervous as before.

Cas was immediately struck with surprise when he found it wasn’t as crowded inside as he had anticipated; with most people swarmed either at the bar or around the pool table in the corner. Fewer people were smoking than he had imagined and so he had a clearer picture of his surroundings which helped ease his nerves. The music was loud, and he could barely hear Dean over the noise until they distanced themselves from the speakers and found somewhere in the corner to sit down. Dean leant across the table and raised his voice a little to be clear over the music and asked what he wanted to drink.

Cas just shrugged and then watched as Dean went over to the bar to buy them some drinks. He’d tried various alcoholic beverages in the past and even managed to get drunk once, but back then all alcohol tasted purely of their molecular structure and it took almost an entire liquor store to get him intoxicated. Nothing about it now was familiar and suddenly there were options he had to consider and probably some restrictions he had to follow, but he didn’t know what any of them were. He decided then and there to allow Dean to take the reins—considering the fact that it was the hunter’s idea in the first place and he had far more experience.

 “Here we go, double scotch and some beer to start,” Dean announced as he came back to their table with two bottles of beer clasped in one hand and two small glasses held riskily between the bottles and his other hand. Dean’s tongue poked out between his lips a little as he concentrated on putting the drinks down without dropping them.

Cas picked up the small glass first and eyed it for a moment before giving it a wary sniff. It was pungent and Cas wrinkled his nose is distaste but tossed it back at the same time as Dean. The hunter seemed well accustomed to the flavour and took to drinking his beer with ease whilst Cas made a face and pushed his empty glass away. He didn’t understand how Dean could drink this so easily and even go back for more, but he didn’t voice this and just shook his head before using his beer to take away the bad taste that lingered on his tongue.

Dean watched as a young, red haired woman walked by them and then gestured for Cas to look. He gave her a quick glance and then raised his eyebrows at Dean in confusion.

“What about her?” He asked and took another swig of his beer.

“Do you think she’s hot?” Dean asked coolly.

Cas near choked on his beer, startled at the question, “Umm, I guess? She has attributes that are typically considered attractive by western civilisation, if that’s what you mean.”

Dean rolled his eyes but was smiling, “alright, so not _your_ type then?”

“Well, I uh… I don’t know Dean,” Cas responded uncertainly, “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Really? What about Meg? You had the hots for her, didn’t you?”

“Dean, you do realise I could see Meg’s real face? While her vessel was perfectly attractive, I was looking at _her_ ,” Castiel explained, “and aside from that, she was there for me when I woke up in that hospital. She was kind and beautiful—”

“Jeez, you make it sound like you two were in love,” Dean interrupted, suddenly more focused on the drink in his hand and he looked back at the bar to see how busy it was.

“I don’t—” Cas started but, once again, Dean interrupted him whilst standing up;

“So demons are your type? Well, I’ll keep an eye out but I don’t think you’ll be in much luck tonight,” Dean said and disappeared to buy more drinks, leaving Cas sitting there stunned and confused and alone.

Cas thought Dean’s demeanour had changed so abruptly that it must have been something he had said, and he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was about his words that had really gotten under Dean’s skin. Was it simply because Meg had been a demon? Was Dean, like the angels, opposed to Cas having had a bond with a demon? It certainly made sense to him considering the history both of them had had with demons in the past, and Dean with Meg specifically. But his time spent under Meg’s care was common knowledge to the hunter and surely shouldn’t still bother him now; especially not since her death and Castiel’s disunity with all demons since.

When Dean came back to the table a few minutes later, he was smiling once again as if nothing had ever happened. Castiel breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that he apparently hadn’t ruined their night out. He didn’t want to go back to the motel so soon if that meant they would be stuck there together in a tense silence.

This time Cas didn’t hesitate to toss back his drinks since he already knew how awful it would taste and decided that putting it off would only worsen the anticipation. It didn’t go down any better than the first time and he decided that he would request something sweeter to drink next time. Dean mimicked him and pushed the six empty glasses together in the middle of the table.

“Having fun yet?”  Dean asked, watching the former angel in wait for the first sign of intoxication.

“When do you start to feel something?” Cas asked.

“You? I’m guessing not long,” Dean smiled,

Cas nodded and offered to buy the next round. Dean dug more money from his pocket and handed it to him without comment. Cas hadn’t thought of what to get so he looked at the specials board and picked one based on what name appealed to him most.  

“Cosmopolitans?” Dean asked as Castiel carried the drinks over to the table. Already Cas felt a little unsteady on his feet, with his arms and legs tingling and his skin feeling flush. It took more concentration than normal to get the drinks to the table without spilling them; the effort made all the more difficult by the impractical shape of the glasses. He moved slow and set the drinks down with as steady a hand as he could muster, and then felt pride when he somehow succeeded.

“Yes. Cosmopolitans,” Cas announced proudly and gestured to the drinks, wanting Dean to be happy for him and to commend his valiant efforts not to waste a single drop.

“So, we’re starting the girly drinks early tonight” Dean said and sipped from his glass. Castiel could see that Dean really liked the sugary taste but just didn’t want to admit it.

Cas eagerly took a swig and smiled at the flavour that was gentler on his tastebuds. It had a strong punch to it that he really started to feel not long after his second sip. But the cranberry gave it a tart taste that eased him into an accelerated pace of drinking until he emptied his glass before Dean had gotten even halfway through his.

Now that he was settled on his preferred liquor, he stood up to get another despite Dean suggesting he wait, and insisted he had no need to stop. Though the hunter made no effort to stop him when he came back with more, allowing him to drink quickly without much pause for breath.

Cas felt warm and happy and a little dizzy as he soon finished his second cocktail, unconsciously swaying in time to the music. He leaned into Dean’s side as he sat down beside the hunter, scooting to the edge of his own chair and depending on Dean’s shoulder to keep him upright. His head nodded to the beat coming from the speakers, though he couldn’t possibly name the song, and Dean placed his arm over Cas’ wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze to check that the former angel was as good as he claimed to be.

“I’m good, Dean, I’m very good,” Cas insisted again, smiling contentedly, and he pointed to his near empty glass, “these are so good, Dean! Have you tried them? They’re very good.”

“I tried it, Cas,” Dean told him, his eyes a little unfocused as he too began to succumb to intoxication, but he was steadier in his movements as he was a far more seasoned drinker than Castiel.   

“But did you really try it, Dean? Are you sure? It’s very good,” Castiel was starting to sway more and felt the hunter’s arm wrap around him, and he was eased up off his chair.

“It was very good, Cas,” Dean laughed and lead the former angel out the door into the cool night air, “I think you’ve had enough to get a decent hangover for tomorrow.”

Cas grabbed Dean’s hand in his, feeling the hunter’s warm skin against his own and he playfully pulled at his sleeve, “I’m glad you liked it, Dean.”

They walked together to the car, a little unsteady on their feet, and Castiel slapped the keys out of Dean’s hand. “Do you know… are you aware of the dangers of drink driving?” He asked, slowly bending down to pick up the keys and he took a moment to unlock the car.

“I think I heard something about it,” Dean granted and climbed into the driver’s seat out of habit. “Even smashed you’re still the voice of reason. But how do you plan for us to get home now?”

“I don’t plan,” he answered easily. Castiel crawled, rather clumsily, from the front seat into the back and leaned against the backrest with a smile still playing at his lips.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, watching him. They could barely see each other in the dark; the only light coming from the bar that cast them into faint shadows. The cold air tickled at their flushed faces and Castiel subconsciously tried to get warm as he moved around in the back seat.

“Sleeping,” Cas said simply.

“But the night is still young!” Dean retorted, almost whining.

“Maybe. But I’m not,” Cas pointed out, turning from one side to the other before sitting up again.

“Pshh, you can’t be _that_ old.”

Castiel hummed softly and could hear Dean climbing into the backseat before actually seeing him or feeling him. The hunter struggled to get his legs over the seat and Castiel helped pull him in until Dean settled down beside the ex-angel. Dean leaned into Cas’ side, near nuzzling into the crook of his arm and they both sought out each other’s warmth.

“It’s crowded back here now,” Cas complained, moving his legs so they actually tangled more with Dean’s rather than making more room between them, “You’re squishing me, Dean.”

Dean didn’t try to move away, and Castiel wouldn’t have let him anyway, his hands tangling into the material of Dean’s shirt and actually pulling at it without purpose. Cas just wanted the hunter close to him; wanted to feel Dean at his side and under his hands and in his arms. The car grew warm with their combined body temperatures and the windows fogged with their heavy breathing. The scent of alcohol permeated the backseat, which lulled them more into each other’s sides.

Then Cas felt Dean’s lips on his neck, trailing slow kisses across his skin and sucking softly just under his ear. Castiel’s breath hitched and he gripped Dean’s shirt tighter, the material held firmly now in his fists and not letting go. He tilted his neck to the side a little so Dean had more room to taste him. The hunter said nothing as his kisses travelled along the length of Castiel’s throat and along his jawline. Castiel said nothing as he pulled Dean in closer.

Soon the hunter’s hands were at Cas’ shirt, twisting into the neckline where he eased the material down and then kissed and licked at his collar bones. Castiel moaned softly, his chest starting to rise and fall with more erratic breaths. Dean’s hands slid down to the former angel’s hips, and Cas remembered Dean’s fingers tracing over his hipbones hours earlier, which caused him to shiver lightly in anticipation for more.

Dean held onto his hips, and he thought briefly about just how steady and practiced Dean’s hands felt: as if the hunter had done this many times before with other people. But his touch didn’t imply that it wasn’t without worth or cause or a true want to feel _Castiel_ , as if nobody else could have been a fair substitute for the ex-angel. Or at least that was what he hoped.

Cas was just happy to be one of those people, even if only for one night.

Dean pulled Cas onto his lap and the former angel automatically straddled him, now tangling his fingers into Dean’s hair. He leaned in and took Dean’s bottom lip between his, kissing him tenderly in the hopes that Dean wouldn’t suddenly turn him away. He didn’t. Instead Dean kissed him back hungrily, his hands climbing up Cas’ stomach under his shirt, steadily pushing the material up to expose his skin. Castiel’s body trembled with lust, and he deepened the kiss, tracing Dean’s bottom lip lightly with his tongue until the hunter’s lips parted. Their tongues fought for dominance as Castiel took charge with his hands, his desire for Dean now without any restraint.

His body still felt euphoric with intoxication and his mind was without inhibitions, allowing him to finally act upon all those nights he thought of Dean whilst clasping his own dick in his hand, pleasuring himself at the image of Dean’s body beneath him. He’d longed to feel the warmth of skin against skin, hips grinding against hips and to feel the heat of Dean’s pleasured moans against the base of his neck. What he’d never been able to accurately imagine, however, was the stiff ridge of Dean’s jeans against the inside of his thigh. Dean lightly thrust up against Castiel, guiding his hips down against him in a desperate need for friction. Castiel’s jeans were becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable, his own cock swelling now, and he just needed Dean’s hands on him. Anywhere on him.

“Dean—” Castiel groaned, rolling more into him as the hunter gripped his thighs; the calloused hands travelling upwards to his belt buckle.

“You know how fucking wild you make me, Cas?” Dean demanded to know, breathlessly undoing the buckle and impatiently pulling the belt clean from Castiel’s jeans.

“No, tell me. Please tell me,” Cas needed to hear it in Dean’s own words. He wanted to know that Dean, for all this time, had wanted him equally in return. Castiel longed to learn that Dean had thought as frequently about this as he did, maybe even touching himself in the next room when Cas hadn’t known it.

“You have no fucking idea,” Dean started, kissing at his neck again and biting at his skin; licking over the marks his teeth left behind. “I’ve heard you, Cas. When you fuck yourself, I heard your moans and the creak of your bed and I just… I wanted to go in there and take you. I really did.”

“Why didn’t you?” Cas panted, tugging Dean’s shirt off and tossing it aside; his nails immediately biting into the skin of Dean’s back. Castiel eased Dean down so the hunter was lying back against the seat, and he ground down hard against his hips and crotch. “Why didn’t you, Dean?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Dean breathed, his body shuddering just at the pleasure of being touched through his jeans.

Cas kissed at Dean’s neck as the hunter fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. His head was swimming as he helped get his pants off; his dizzying intoxication and the cramped space of the backseat making it all the more difficult, and he impatiently whined, desperate to free them both from their constricting clothing. Dean sat up and laughed, pulling Castiel’s shirt off in one swift motion, making it look so easy, and then they stopped and stared at the shadowed outline of each other in the dark for a moment. Their chests heaved breathlessly, their lips swollen from passionate kisses, and they both seemed stunned to think they had somehow gotten here. And Cas wished it hadn’t taken so long.

“Come here,” Dean whispered, pulling Castiel in again and their lips met in a much softer kiss. Their hands suddenly seemed clumsy and unsure but still longing to touch one another as Cas held Dean’s hips and Dean tangled his fingers into Cas’ hair.

Cas trailed his hand down and touched Dean’s inner thigh, making his breath hitch, so he traced upwards to Dean’s crotch, palming him gently through his boxers. Dean was already hard, the material of his boxers tented, and he thrust up into Castiel’s hand. He slipped Dean’s cock free from the material and stroked along the length of it carefully and the hunter moaned against his lips.

“You’re very firm,” Castiel commented, sliding his thumb through the slit of Dean’s cockhead that was slick with pre-come.

“Observant as always, Cas,” Dean groaned then kissed him again.

Castiel was dizzy, his skin still prickling with intoxication, so he had to focus on the movement of his wrist now and his grip, dazedly concerned that maybe he was doing it wrong since he’d only ever touched himself before. But his touch elicited more breathless moans from the hunter and Dean cursed quietly, his hips thrusting into Castiel’s hand on their own accord. Cas took that as a good sign and quickened his pace, only pausing once to spit on his hand for more lubrication.

“Is this pleasurable, Dean?” Castiel asked when Dean’s body started to shudder, his thrusts becoming rough and inconsistent.

“F...Fuck, Dean panted, dragging Cas down for another kiss. “This is s…so fucking pleasurable.”

A car pulled out of the lot and cast its headlights past the Impala which gave Castiel just enough time to see Dean’s face in the light. His eyes were shut and his mouth agape in an overwhelmed desire, and Cas was intrigued by the swelling of Dean’s lips where his kisses had left their mark; claiming them as his.

And that’s all he had wanted since he had learned how to feel.

It was Dean that showed him how to lead a life of freedom and why it was so important to do so. It was Dean that had taught him what it meant to have something worth fighting and worth dying for. The hunter had shattered the lifelong perception of a warrior and helped him see how there was courage in empathy and love too. It hadn’t been easy falling from Heaven, and it certainly hadn’t gotten any easier since. Not when he couldn’t fully cut the ties to his home.

But with Dean he felt assured that he had a home here too.

And that look of pure ecstasy in his expression told Cas that he wanted this just as much as he did; he wanted Cas in his arms, in his bed; as a permanent fixture in his life. And Cas was willing and ready to give him all that and more. He had just been waiting for Dean to ask.

“Do you want me, Dean?” Castiel asked, his hand still stroking the length of Dean’s shaft.

“Y…yes, Cas. Yes, I fucking want you,” Dean groaned quickly, his fingers tugging desperately at Castiel’s hair.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked seriously, kissing his lips again.

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure,” Dean gasped, suddenly starting to come undone at Castiel’s touch and he groaned as he ejaculated into his hand.

Castiel felt the warmth of his seed in his fingers and he continued to caress him through his high. He kissed along Dean’s throat, down the middle of his chest to his bellybutton. Dean’s body shuddered through his orgasm and his nails dug into the skin of Cas’ back as the ex-angel moved back up his chest and peered up at him.

Castiel could barely see Dean in the dark, but he could hear the uneven breaths as the hunter tried to gather himself. Then he felt Dean move, though he couldn’t tell where until he felt hands pulling his boxers down his hips, over his thighs and to his ankles. His heart was hammering now, suddenly very aware that Dean was touching him. Was _still_ touching him. And he could hardly believe it.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, his hands hesitating on Cas’ thighs. Castiel had become frozen beneath him.

Castiel murmured something incoherent and even he wasn’t sure what exactly it was though he thought it was something along the lines of: “touch me” or “kiss me”. He couldn’t discern which since he so desperately wanted both. And now it seemed like too much to ask for.

“Do you want me to stop?” Dean asked gently.

Castiel’s eyes widened and he grabbed Dean’s shoulders and pulled him in, “No. Please don’t stop, Dean.”

Dean kissed him once more before shifting down his body and settling his hands on Cas’ hips. Then he felt Dean’s tongue lick up the underside of his cock in one swift motion, startling him.

“Oh!” Cas breathed, tilting his head back against the seat and his eyes fluttered shut just as Dean took him into his mouth, sucking gently at the head of his cock.

He couldn’t put the feeling into words. It was so different to the times where he had masturbated in the privacy of his bedroom back at the bunker. This was a whole new pleasure; a new stimulation he knew very little about but was finding he liked very, very much. But there was even more to it than that. It was feeling safe in another’s arms, the lingering promise of need in a kiss, the trust in entirely losing yourself in another person. Castiel was starting to understand. He’d acquainted himself with an inexplicable longing sometime before now but couldn’t have imagined what it was like to actually fulfil those desires. But now he felt it; raw and true and remarkable.

And he knew this was love. Maybe he had known it all along but had never been able to name it before. 

“Dean,” he moaned, the name passing his lips like it belonged only on his tongue and he arched his back, forcing himself to resist the physical need to thrust his hips up. Dean sucked harder, swallowing further down Castiel’s length.

  He could tell he wouldn’t last much longer, not since his anticipation had grown from the very first kiss and Dean just seemed to be everywhere at once; his body tingled with incredible sensations from head to foot. Cas gnawed on his lip, forcing back an unbelievable number of moans and he stared up to the dark, cavernous space of the car roof and thought dizzily about where they were and maybe where they would be the next morning. And to think he had almost rejected the night in its entirety; having nearly suggested they sit in an uncomfortable silence instead.

In that moment, he decided to always take Dean up on his ideas, no matter how crazy or ambitious or outright stupid. He would give Dean just about anything right now were he to ask, and he would have no reservations about it. Just as long as Dean wanted him.

He felt Dean flick his tongue through the slit of his cock, making him whimper as he started to feel a tightness in his stomach and testicles, and a great swelling in his erection. He was already so close and the sensation was driving him wild. He couldn’t form any words of warning for Dean; breathless moans passing his lips without restraint, and he couldn’t ease the tension forming between his shoulders as he arched again against the seat. His eyes shut at the growing frenzy, his hands tangling into his own hair to try and garner some control: but Dean had effortlessly consumed his willpower. He had nothing left to tether him to reality; because surely this was just a dream—a damn good one at that.

It still, even now as Dean’s mouth made him come undone, seemed far too good to be true.

Dean’s calloused hands gripped his hips and held them in place, feeling so coarse and secure there against the heat of his skin. Lightheaded, Castiel slowly propped himself up onto his elbows, a light sheen of sweat lining his brow and his lips parted—slightly cracked and dry from his hysterical breathing. Mostly he felt weak in the knees, like he was just seeing Dean for the very first time when he didn’t understand the concept of attraction.

He saw the shadow of Dean sit upright in front of him and the faint outline of his arm moving across his face, followed by the feeling of a t-shirt wiping over his flaccid groin. The hunter clumsily cleaned him up in the dark before nudging Cas to move over to the edge of the seat. Castiel suddenly felt much drunker than before and actually heavy headed as the exhilaration alleviated, so he said nothing as he shuffled to the side as much as he could without falling. His arms automatically wrapped around Dean’s waist as he nestled tightly into his side. The seat wasn’t big enough to fit them both like this, but they tried anyway, shifting awkwardly until Dean’s head rested on Castiel’s chest, one arm dangling over him and the other squished between their bodies. Cas had an arm trapped beneath Dean’s body that was surely going a bit numb, but there was simply no other place to put it, and he didn’t dare try to rearrange them. They were both uncomfortable, but neither of them would have it any other way—not if it meant being apart.

After that, Castiel slept effortlessly and without the perturbing nightmares that so often stole his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you liked this chapter (took me forever to write haha.) Let me know what you thought and I hope you're looking forward to more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

 

The first thing Castiel thought when he woke up was that he must be dying. He had no other explanation for the intense pounding inside his skull and the queasiness in his stomach. He sat up slowly and covered his eyes with his hands in an inexplicable sensitivity to the light. Groaning, he tried to lick his dry lips but his tongue was also dry; his throat aching with a horrible thirst. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to treat this sudden onset of illness and he thought he ought to ask Dean, but the hunter was nowhere to be found.

In fact, the car was now somewhere else entirely. Looking out the window, Cas saw not the exterior of the bar where he had been the night before, but instead the exterior of what appeared to be a diner. He couldn’t fathom how and when he got there and could recall actually taking the keys away from Dean only hours earlier. It was impossible to say where he had put them since he couldn’t remember much of the finer details beyond what he and Dean had done together. He assumed that had he been sober, he still wouldn’t be able to remember anything aside from their intimacy. Nothing else seemed all that important.

He realised he was still completely naked; only covered by a thin blanket that he had no recollection of ever getting out from the trunk. He could only assume that Dean had gotten it for him though there was no way of knowing when. Dazedly, Cas shrugged the blanket aside and tried to focus solely on getting dressed which was no easy feat. The backseat somehow felt less spacious than before, with the process of undressing seeming effortless compared to the complication of redressing. His boxers and t-shirt went on smoothly enough, but the jeans were near impossible and he had to wriggle about the seat just to get the waistband up to his thighs, at which point the ankle hems became stuck around his feet. It was possible for anyone to witness the struggle were they to notice him through the window, but he felt so awful that he simply couldn’t bring himself to care.

He jumped when the car door suddenly opened and Dean sat down in the driver’s seat. His cheeks flushed scarlet and he quickly tried to pull his jeans up the remainder of the way, eventually zipping them up. Wordlessly, Dean held out a take-away cup of coffee, his eyes diverted to the windscreen so his reach was pointed much further to Castiel’s right. Cas reached out and took it, muttering a quiet thank you and his throat ached from the effort, reminding him of his dehydration. Dean started the car and pulled out of the lot with a sudden velocity that startled Cas and made him nearly drop his drink. The hunter still didn’t say anything and it became apparent to Castiel that he must be mad at him, though there was no knowing why this time. Was there more to last night than he remembered? Something he shouldn’t have said? Or something he shouldn’t have done?

“Dean—” Cas started.

Dean snapped a cassette into the stereo and automatically turned up the volume, effectively driving any and all thoughts from Castiel’s mind, replacing them with a more intense hammering inside his head. He winced and sat the coffee down between his knees so he could rub his temples firmly. It seemed a dangerous idea to try and climb into the front seat, not just because the car was travelling at what was surely close to 80mph; if not faster, but also because he couldn’t possibly get closer to those speakers without throwing up. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for a few moments, almost wishing he hadn’t woken up at all this morning. But there was no way he could get back to sleep now; not with Dean’s music playing loud enough to vibrate through his chest, and so he decided to make the best of it and quietly drank his coffee.

This didn’t last as long as he hoped it would and then he found himself lost with nothing to do with his hands and the travel was taunting his nausea, unsettling his stomach so much that it was beyond the repair of looking out the window. Had the Impala always been this claustrophobic? And how could it suddenly be sweltering hot when just yesterday he was shivering inside a coat? The music ravaged his ears; all the lyrics blurring into an impalpable noise and Dean still wasn’t talking and now he couldn’t think outside of his anxiety.

“Dean—” He tried again, leaning forward against the backrest of Dean’s seat.

Dean visibly tensed, and it didn’t escape his notice when the hunter actually scooted forward to be as far away from him as possible without hindering his ability to drive. Castiel wiped the sweat from his brow and he pulled uncomfortably at the material of his shirt where the collar felt too tight like it was restricting his throat and constricting his chest. The backseat had to be shrinking. Or he had to be growing—which seemed far less likely.

“Dean, I need to stop,” he begged breathlessly, gripping Dean’s seat tightly in white-knuckled fists, “Please stop the car. I need air… I need…” He wasn’t sure what else he needed. To get out of that car, to splash his heated skin with cold water, to have Dean say something to him; anything at all.

He saw Dean glance at him in the rear-view mirror and then the car was swiftly pulled over to the side of the road. Cas clambered out before the car had come to a complete standstill, almost rolling out onto the dirt but he somehow gathered himself and bent over with his hands on his knees. He hadn’t experienced anything like this before and it wasn’t something he wished to experience again, but he had no way of knowing the exact cause or the best remedy. His stomach churned and his knees shook, but the fresh air wasn’t helping him and cool breeze was biting against his warm skin. Finally, he heaved, but nothing came out and he could hear the squeak of Dean’s door followed by his approaching footsteps. He didn’t want Dean to see him like this and he held up a hand, warning him to keep his distance as he heaved again, this time with more success.

“Shit, Cas… I swear you didn’t drink _that_ much,” Dean muttered, hovering uncertainly just within his line of sight.

“Oh, so you _can_ talk,” Cas said sourly, slowly easing himself down so he was sitting on the side of the road. Dean’s hands were suddenly on his back, pulling him away from the pile of his own sick, and Cas clumsily scooted back with him. Now that he had emptied his stomach somewhat, he couldn’t decide whether he felt better or worse. At the very least, he no longer felt claustrophobic or overheated, which seemed like as good a start as any to getting better.

Dean stood behind him even though Cas insisted that he wait in the car. It was humiliating to have the hunter see him like this. Because clearly Dean had better control of his liquor intake and somehow still looked so put together and almost refreshed, if not just a little dishevelled from sleeping in the back of the car.

“Reckon you’ll be fine to get back to the motel? Or will you go full on Exorcist in my car?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Will you blow chunks if you get back in the car?”

“If you mean vomit, Dean, then no. I’ll be fine,” Cas told him, “Just… please turn the music off.”

“Right. Up you get,” Dean grabbed his arm and hoisted him back up onto his feet and clapped him once on the back.

Castiel’s head was still swimming as he climbed into the passenger seat and leaned his head against the window. The stereo remained silent and so did Dean as they got back onto the road, the motel seeming like it was miles away through in reality it wasn’t far to go at all and they were soon back on a familiar road.

Glancing over, Cas could see hickeys on the skin of Dean’s neck and he blushed when he thought about how it was his lips that had made them. It was his kisses that had marked the hunter, but Dean had obviously tried to conceal them with the collar of his coat. Dean didn’t want people to see them. Maybe he didn’t want Cas to see them either, which was a painful thought Cas really wished he could reject. Unfortunately, Dean’s tense jaw and stiff composure said so much while the hunter actually said nothing at all.

Dean was ashamed.

 Though Cas couldn’t tell whether it was about him or about what they had done. Worst case scenario included both. And he didn’t know how to fix it this time, especially when Dean was sure not to let him even try.

“Alright, we’ll run in, pack, and hit the road,” Dean said as he turned off the ignition.

“Dean, I’m dirty. Can’t I shower first?” Cas asked quietly and Dean shrugged in agreement.

Castiel went into their motel room ahead of Dean and got into the shower. It almost seemed a ridiculous notion to close the bathroom door now that Dean had seen literally every part of him—but clearly Dean had no intention of ever seeing that much of him again. He thought it really ought not to matter. Perhaps it was nothing more than that so-called ‘one-night-stand’ that Sam had warned him about. Though he hadn’t imagined it being this awful. Although, in fairness, he also hadn’t expected it to happen with Dean of all people. In fact he hadn’t anticipated it ever happening in his lifetime—with anyone.

He just wasn’t sure how to appropriately bring up the subject matter and question whether he was right in theorising the ‘one-night-stand’ status. Briefly, he contemplated calling Sam and simply asking him; considering it was he who seemed to know so much on the topic. But he soon decided against it. Something in his gut warned him to keep Sam out of it, if not just for Dean’s sake. Even he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Dean wouldn’t want his brother involved.

Castiel saw no other choice except to take it in stride and he reprimanded himself for ever expecting and hoping for more. It had always been too much to ask for.

Dean pounded on the door, making Cas jump and he scurried to turn the water off.

“Check out’s in fifteen minutes! Move your ass or I’m leaving you behind!”

This time Cas had little doubt that Dean meant it. And he wasn’t about to risk whatever friendship still remained between them by testing the sincerity of Dean’s threat. How could he possibly endure being left behind? Being unwanted by the one person whom he wanted to want him?

Cas hastily dried his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist; realising too late that he had left his change of clothes on his bed in his haste to get a door between himself and Dean. Again, rationality dictated that by once having his naked form not only appraised, but also caressed and kissed by the hunter, there was no reason for being uncomfortable in having Dean see him with his genitalia concealed only by a towel. If anything, any amount of coverage was now pointless, for what had been seen could never be unseen. And he certainly couldn’t forget the feel of Dean’s body beneath his hands, and what’s more: he didn’t want to. He took a heavy breath and stepped out of the bathroom, his shoulders gleaming and wet and his hair dripping into his face. Dean had his back to the door, unceremoniously shoving everything back into their bags and Castiel got the distinct impression of being ignored. The towel slipped further down his hips as he quickly gathered a fresh set of clothes. When he turned back around, he saw Dean’s eyes diverting from him back to the task at hand.

“Dean?” Cas asked tentatively, hesitating in the doorway of the bathroom, one hand clasping his towel and the other clutching the bundle of clothes to his chest.

“Ten minutes, Cas,” Dean cleared his throat and slung the bag onto his shoulder.

“But, Dean…”

“Let’s make it five minutes,” Dean muttered and left through the door without looking back.

Cas got ready in four minutes; terrified to think that were he to take just that one minute longer, he would find himself abandoned with the only trace left of Dean being the scent of him lingering on his clothes.  

 

* * *

 

 

“I need to use the bathroom,” Castiel announced quietly. He decided it was as good a time as any to mention it since they had only just passed a road sign indicating that they were swiftly approaching another gas station. The third one within six hours, to be exact.

“Again?” Dean groaned, his knuckles stiffening on the steering wheel.

“Dean, I implore you to imagine living for centuries without the need for a bladder and then suddenly having one thrust upon you,” Cas said plainly.

The silent treatment exhausted him far more than what a verbal feud ever could. His various efforts to strike up conversation, no matter how mundane the subject, had been met only with deafening silence or a distant grunt of disdainful acknowledgement. And truth be told, he was growing tired of it. Had he really done so much as to be the sole cause of Dean’s shame?  When it had first been Dean’s lips at his neck and not the other way round? Or had he simply imagined it that way?

“You could try, I don’t know—maybe holding it? Like a normal person,” Dean suggested bitterly, “or is that idea too out of left field for you?”

“No. It’s just idiotic,” Cas said, crossing his arms and glaring out the window.

“We’re never gonna make it to the next motel if you keep needing to stop every five minutes.”

“Then we’ll sleep here in the car. Or does that make you uncomfortable all of a sudden?”

Cas felt the car lurch forward as Dean’s foot pressed down harder on the accelerator and his expression turned almost murderous; his jaw sharp and a vein throbbed prominently at his temple. Castiel was just relieved to hear Dean’s voice at all after all these hours spent tormented at the idea of never having him speak again. Dean reached out to turn the stereo on but then stopped and withdrew his hand. Obviously he was still taking Castiel’s desperate plea for the music to stay off to heart.

“How’s the hangover?” Dean asked eventually, slowly easing his foot off the accelerator as they approached and pulled in at the Gas-N-Sip.

“Well, I’m not sure what’s worse, Dean. The nauseating headache that won’t go away or your refusal to acknowledge what we did last night,” Cas replied earnestly. His head nearly hit the dash when Dean suddenly hit the brakes.

Castiel braced himself and cast a wary glance to the hunter; worried that, in his state of emotional turmoil, he had pushed Dean too far too soon. After all, he had known not to expect anything—certainly never this much.  But he wanted answers. An explanation. To understand what he realised may never be understood. He’d concluded last night that his feelings for Dean were that of love, but he had little to no idea of what exactly that entailed. And he certainly wasn’t practiced in the art of love or how to give or receive it.

Love, to put it simply, left him mystified.

Dean got out of the car and wordlessly started to fill up on gas; focusing more attention to the gas pump than what was necessary. He turned back only once to toss money into Castiel’s lap without ever meeting his gaze.

“You go in and pay. Get yourself some painkillers while you’re at it,” Dean instructed sternly. It was clear that there was no room for discussion; not now, maybe not ever.

Without argument, Cas took the money and did as he was told; using the bathroom first before paying for the gasoline, painkillers, two more coffees, and a newspaper. He took his time and watched Dean through the shop window at a distance from which he knew it was safe to stare. Dean would have a hard time trying to see him through the glare of the sun. Not that it mattered, since Dean didn’t once look up. Castiel observed him and searched for something. He wasn’t sure what for exactly, but he imagined he would know it were he to see it.

But any revelation continued to elude him.

Either he wasn’t looking hard enough or there just wasn’t anything there to see. The hunter still baffled him. Dean stood with his back to the car, his head dipped low and his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Cas wondered why the hunter seemed so forlorn. Was there more there than shame? Was there regret? It was impossible to imagine where Dean’s thoughts were now: whether they were in the backseat of the Impala or pretending that place didn’t exist anymore. But Cas had to do something; if not to discover Dean’s veiled thoughts, then to repair whatever harm had been caused. He needed Dean in whatever way and in whatever capacity he was allowed.

“Uh… sir? Your change,” the store clerk said, interrupting Castiel’s thoughts. The man eyed him carefully and Cas tilted his head in quiet acknowledgement.

 He quickly gathered everything and went back outside, quickening his pace when Dean looked up at him. Cas silently vowed to hold his tongue and hoped that, with time, Dean would open up to the idea of discussing what had happened. For now, he had to practice patience, and he knew that wouldn’t be easy. Not when the evidence was right there on Dean’s skin—serving as a constant reminder and making him long for more.

“I bought coffee,” Cas announced stiffly and awkwardly held the cup out to him. It was a poor peace offering but he couldn’t think of anything else that was suitable to offer.

Dean raised an eyebrow and seemed to explore Castiel’s face for a moment or two, and Cas held his breath, almost expecting the cup to be knocked clean from his hand or to be simply left holding onto it forever. Then his chest finally deflated when Dean reached out and accepted his offer, taking it and turning to get into the car. Cas followed and settled himself into the passenger seat. He set the newspaper down on his lap and the coffee between his knees so his hands were free to open up the painkillers. His stomach had mostly settled but the headache seemed stubborn in leaving without some kind of assistance, so he tipped the bottle into his palm and started to close the lid when Dean suddenly smacked him lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean demanded to know, his eyes intense as he stared the former angel down.

“Taking painkillers, Dean. Isn’t it obvious?” Cas replied, his body frozen stiff, “Am I… did I do something wrong?”

“Read the bottle, Cas,” Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his left temple. The hunter reached over and took two pills from Castiel’s still open palm and swallowed them down with his coffee after blowing on it to cool it down.

Confused, Cas turned the bottle and read the label, furrowing his brow at the directions that clearly stated he ought to only take two within an hour. Looking down, Cas inspected the ten pills he had in his hand and he slowly tipped them back into the bottle.

“It’s a wonder you haven’t accidentally killed yourself,” Dean sighed and pulled out of the gas station, “and this time there was already a warning sticker on it.”

“Wasn’t a bright sticker like you recommended,” Cas pointed out lightly, swallowing the correct number of pills with coffee and effectively burning his tongue again. He winced and shook his head in utter disbelief that he somehow hadn’t learned from the past dozen times.

“Don’t need the bathroom again already, do you?” Dean asked, “Speak now or forever hold your peace because I’m not stopping again.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel promised and decided to try reading the newspaper. He figured he could most likely manage a few minutes scanning the headlines before inevitably feeling car sick. They were bound to be on the road for a few more hours and he doubted he could last that long in silence with nothing to do or see. It seemed worth the risk and so he made himself comfortable and swiftly turned from page to page.

There was evidence of angels in numerous headlines: unexplained miracles and an influx of missing people as the angels took on vessels in which to roam the Earth. Castiel’s chest felt heavy and his stomach started to churn as he had been reading the paper for far too long; forgetting his initial plan to avoid falling ill. But something felt different this time. It wasn’t just the travel that was making him unwell. It was guilt.

He turned the page in an attempt to distance himself from what he had done and what he wished he could somehow repair. And then something else drew his attention.

“Dean, I think I found a case.”

“Seriously?” Dean asked, glancing over at the paper.

“Three victims within the last two months. Supposed cause of death: animal attacks. But there have been no reported sightings of wild animals in the area. ”

Dean considered this for a moment and sighed, “Anything mentioned about the state of the vics’? Heart missing? Drained of blood?”

“Unfortunately, no. They seem to be, uh, keeping it pretty close to the chest, as you say,” Cas said, “it’s not far from here. We should check it out.”

“It could be nothing,” Dean murmured, surprisingly hesitant as he looked Cas up and down before fixing his eyes purposely on the road.

“Or it could be something, Dean. We could be of assistance.”

Castiel needed this. He needed to help where he could though he knew that it wasn’t where his help was needed most. This was something that he and Dean could do. This was fixable. Which was more than what could be said about the state of Heaven and the angels. And Cas hoped that a case would be distraction enough for Dean. Perhaps with his concerns focused elsewhere, Dean would be able to look past the tension between them.

“Look, if it is something, then Sam is most definitely on the case already,” Dean told him.

“Sam has a lot further to travel,” Cas pointed out reasonably, “we could start working the case and have Sam meet us in a few days.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Dean said firmly.

“Dean—”

“No, Cas. We’re not meeting up with Sam.” It was clear that Dean was unwilling to negotiate.

“Well, then we will do it alone,” Cas decided.

Dean ran his hand down over his face and then rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. “Alright. We’ll stop in at a hotel and do some digging online and see what we can find. Coroner’s reports, witness statements, case the town…”

Castiel beamed, relieved that Dean was willing to partake, and the tension between them had already started to alleviate. Dean’s posture softened and his hands slid to a lower position on the steering wheel. In turn, Cas shifted comfortably in his seat and folded up the newspaper; sure now that he no longer needed it. They each had something else to think about. But Cas’ thoughts still turned to Dean; admiring his profile and observing his unkempt hair. There had always been little time in the past to appreciate Dean in detail. But now, looking through human eyes, it was hard to imagine what used to keep him otherwise distracted. Since being on Earth, Cas had developed a fondness for humankind and found value in their unique qualities. He often sought the meaning in their actions and wanted to understand and relate to their undying determination to not only survive but also thrive.

But there was something more to the Winchesters.

They were endlessly fascinating and Cas found something in them that he never could with his brothers and sisters: he found family. The two of them were, to him at least, hope personified. They were unconquerable bravery and immovable passion and enviable perseverance. Even their notable flaws like their undying stubbornness and occasional carelessness and frequent bouts of unjustified self-loathing, couldn’t tarnish them in Castiel’s eyes. To him, they were everything, and he couldn’t, even after all this time, believe that they somehow still allowed him a place at their side. Oftentimes he didn’t believe he belonged there; after all the ways he had wronged them or let them down or didn’t give them his all.

The Winchesters were special. And they deserved better.  

Dean was special. And Cas could hardly imagine a future without him in it. By losing his grace, Cas started to feel the vulnerability that had always lingered within Dean, and it terrified him. Terrified him because it meant that that future he hadn’t been able to imagine was now taking shape in the recesses of his mind. It felt possible now in ways it never had before. And despite his own risk of dying being probably equal to that of Dean’s, he found he only had concern for the hunter. Dean was someone worth protecting. No matter the cost.

There was a lot to be said of Dean’s soul, and, gazing at him now, a lot to be said of his body too. Castiel had pieced him back together when saving Dean’s soul from Hell and there had been intricacies involved beyond that of using his powers to restore him. He knew this body well. But now there had come to light a way in which this body now stunned him: he now saw intricacies he never knew existed, or had, in his angelic blindness, never properly observed before. It was the subtle hint of stubble on his jawline, the faintest flecks of soft gold in the green of his eyes, his gentle lopsided smiles when he thought no one was looking, and the pale freckles dusting his nose and cheekbones.

They were all aspects of Dean that had once meant nothing but now meant everything, and Castiel was determined not to lose him now. Especially not like this. Not being wanted was less painful than not being there, so he sought a resolution that allowed him a place still at Dean’s side—even if it meant only admiring him from afar.

For him, this hunt was perhaps his only chance to fix what he had broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Chapters might start taking longer to upload from now on, but I promise they'll keep coming :)


	6. Chapter 6

 

Castiel knew he should have questioned Dean when he had insisted they check into a hotel a couple hours outside of where they needed to be. It hadn’t made sense at the time why they wouldn’t set up a temporary residence in town where they could easily go back and forth for the duration of the case—for however long that may be. It was what Sam and Dean had done for years, so Castiel wondered why the routine had changed when it was just Dean and himself. He had wanted to ask but bit his tongue—still wary of initiating any kind of argument that could blacklist him the same way Sam had been. But it wasn’t long before the reason became clear.

“Dean, you cannot expect me to stay behind while you hunt alone,” Castiel said, exasperated.

“I do and you will,” Dean replied matter-of-factly and dumped Castiel’s bag down onto the only bed in the room—a feature Cas hadn’t heard in Dean’s request for a room. Had he heard it, he would have realised Dean’s intentions a lot sooner and may have made a point of stopping it right then and there.

“Are you really that opposed to my presence?” Castiel was livid.  

“Jesus, Cas, it isn’t personal,” Dean switched on the television and held the remote out to him. Cas did not take it. “You should just stay here and watch some trash TV or jack off to some porn or something. Something normal.”

“When have I ever been normal, Dean?”

“Well, the way I see it, you are now,” Dean gestured up and down the length of Castiel’s very human body. “You’re human, Cas. You’re a liability.”

“You are aware, Dean, that you too are human? Always have been, actually,” Cas glowered at the hunter, “how am I any different from you?”

“I know my limitations.”

“I was a soldier. I am a perfectly competent combatant,” Cas reminded him firmly.

“When you had your wings and harp, Cas. It’s different now. You have weaknesses you’ve never had before. I can’t risk my ass trying to save yours.”

“When did I ask you to risk your ass?”

“When you insisted on going on a hunt with me,” Dean retorted stubbornly. “Let me just bottom line it for you, Cas: you aren’t coming. I’ll take care of this and come back for you in a couple days.”

“Or I could go with you right now and save you the trouble of driving back,” Castiel was determined not to let Dean thwart him from taking part in the very case that he had discovered. He wouldn’t allow Dean to keep him permanently at arm’s length. There was needing some space and then there was outright rejection, and it wasn’t a question to him as to where one crossed into the other.

“Oh, I dunno, I quite like the drive,” Dean shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“You may require my assistance, Dean,” Cas told him.

“I’ve been a hunter for a long time. I think I can handle myself.”

“Alright then… well, let me just bottom line it for you, Dean:  I’m going. Whether you take me or not.”

Cas stepped forward until their toes were almost touching and his chest was dangerously close to Dean’s. There was only a few inches difference in their heights and so, were he brave enough, Cas could easily lean forward that little bit more and kiss him. In fact, his lips were already hovering precariously close to Dean’s, and, curiously, Dean wasn’t retreating.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, “I hate to remind you, Cas, but you can’t exactly fly anymore.”

“For someone that hates to remind me, you were hardly hesitant to remind me,” Cas pointed out, “but if you must know, I don’t have any reservations about illegally obtaining a vehicle.”

“God, I’ve been a bad influence on you,” Dean laughed, though the sound lacked humour, and placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Don’t change the subject,” Cas insisted stubbornly, “I’m going with you.”

Dean groaned and rolled his head around in a circular motion before meeting Castiel’s gaze; “Sometimes you’re like the annoying girlfriend that won’t stop nagging.”

“I only nag because it’s the only way to make you listen,” Cas flushed scarlet. Any comment that compared himself to a romantic or sexual partner was bound to mortify him now.

“Alright, alright. We’ll compromise. You can come with me as long as you stay in the car,” Dean negotiated. The hunter finally stepped away from Cas and ran his hand through his own hair, clearly exasperated. Cas broadened his shoulders and offered a smug smile before retrieving his bag and edging his way toward the door.

“I’m so going to regret this,” Dean sighed, closely following behind.

 

* * *

 

 

They travelled the precarious dirt road to a cabin located at the edge of the dense forest. The wheels of the Impala dipped dangerously into the wet earth and threatened to trap them somewhere along the quiet path. Dean was only concerned for the state of the Impala, muttering incensed curses each time a wheel slid into the mud. Castiel, however, couldn’t bring himself to care about anything beyond what they might find at the cabin.

“You’re sure about this, Dean? Just the one vampire?” He asked uncertainly and leaned forward in his seat to gaze anxiously out the windshield.

“You don’t trust me?” Dean raised an eyebrow at the former angel; challenging him.

“Of course I do. But circumstances aren’t always as straightforward as they might appear.”

“Meaning?”

“That your Intel may be wrong. There may be something you didn’t— _we_ —didn’t see,” Cas said, quickly correcting himself when Dean’s expression touched on offended.

“Look, you’ve always gotta expect some nasty surprises.”

“Well, that makes me feel _loads_ better, Dean.” Cas huffed.

“I am all about your peace of mind,” Dean muttered and winced again when the Impala thudded through a particularly deep puddle.

Cas frowned and shifted ever so slightly closer to Dean and hoped he wouldn’t notice. He wasn’t comfortable with the hunt anymore and wished he had never suggested it in the first place. He had thought that he would have somehow found a way around Dean’s conditions, but the hunter was immovable and had refused Castiel’s help at every stage. Cas had been barred from helping Dean research the coroner reports for the three victims, was left behind in the car when Dean was questioning witnesses, and had to go so far as to try to eavesdrop wherever he could without success. Dean was always one step ahead of him and stopped him at every turn. It was astounding to think just how predictable he had become, because Dean somehow always knew what he was thinking.

 They could see the cabin now and slowed up before stopping out front.

“So this is it?” Castiel asked quietly.

He peered out the window to the decrepit cabin that appeared completely abandoned from the outside. The structure was weathered; completely aged by the elements. The empty windowpanes were dark where the glass had been broken in. Ragged curtains trembled in the hollow windows, signifying something ominous and perilous, though Cas couldn’t for the life of him understand why the sight of them left him with such foreboding in the pit of his stomach. It looked empty. Reason would dictate that the cabin itself was harmless but what could be said of whatever was inside, if there was in fact anything or anyone there at all?

“This is it,” Dean confirmed and got out of the car. He paused before closing the door behind him, his back to Cas as he appraised the cabin one last time. Cas watched on and gnawed on his bottom lip, scooting over to Dean’s open window.

“I could go with you,” Cas offered without much hope; he knew Dean wouldn’t accept his help.

“No, Cas. You wait here,” Dean said firmly. The hunter disappeared round the back of the car and Cas could hear him rummaging in the trunk for something. When he emerged, he was holding onto a machete.

“I hope you know that I’m unhappy about this, Dean,” Cas huffed and leaned his arms on the open windowsill.

“Oh, you’ve made that clear,” Dean assured him. He tested the length of the blade to make sure it wasn’t blunt; after all, it had to be sharp enough to cut cleanly through a vampire’s neck. “I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops. Then we can hit the road, alright?”

“Just fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Dean repeated and cautiously approached the cabin. Castiel wound up the window furiously and watched the hunter as he slipped in through the door. Then there was nothing.

Barely a minute later, Castiel heard a struggle inside the cabin with wood breaking and glass shattering. He didn’t hesitate as he scurried out of the car and retrieved a machete from the trunk, his hand remarkably steady despite his racing heart. There was no time to question anything; it was Dean in that cabin, and that was all that mattered.

“Dean!” Cas barged in through the door to find Dean pinned beneath a woman.

She turned around at the sound of the door breaking off its hinges and bared a mouthful of pointed teeth. Cas held up the machete instinctively and shifted from one foot to the other, his expression blank with sudden dread. The vampire stood upright and stormed towards him with her arms outreached, her sharp nails soon gripping onto his shirt and pulling him in. Dean struggled with his leg trapped beneath a heavy wooden table.

It was all happening so fast but Cas could recognise the desperate fear in Dean’s eyes as the hunter pushed hard against the table, shifting it a little at a time. Cas tried to swing the machete but the vampire gripped his arm and twisted, forcing the blade from his hand with a metallic clatter. His bones felt tired and weak in that moment; his body void of the strength and power he had been created with. But he knew enough to hold up on his own and he forced her back a step, somehow miraculously keeping her sharp teeth at arm’s length.

She was far stronger than him, but she was also wild with ravenous hunger and her eyes were bloodshot with a frantic need for his blood. This left her vulnerable to him, and he threw her aside with a massive exertion of energy and his lungs protested heavily against the effort. Dean finally rolled his leg out from under the table and he scuttled across the floor towards his dropped machete. The sudden movement dragged the vampire’s attention away from Castiel and back to Dean and she grabbed the hunter by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him with ease so his feet dangled off the floor. Cas rushed forward just as the vampire flung Dean hard against the wall and the hunter fell in a heap in the corner, blood gushing from a wound on his forehead. The vampire stood still and sniffed at the air, her body trembling now with overwhelming hunger and instinct, and Cas was completely lost to her. Castiel sliced through her neck with one quick swing and her head fell cleanly from her shoulders.

“Dean?!” Cas dropped the blade with no regard for it or the dead body in front of him or the blood splatter staining his shirt and face. He cared only for Dean’s wellbeing, and the hunter was bleeding profusely now.

Dean sat upright with his back to the wall and he dabbed hopelessly at his forehead with the back of his hand but the blood continued to gush and ran down over his left eye, all the way down his cheek and dripped from his chin. The hunter tried to wave the former angel off as Cas knelt down in front of him to inspect his wound. It was impossible to see the extent of Dean’s injuries through the blood but Cas tried his best to get an idea of its depth, despite Dean repeatedly trying to push his hands aside.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean insisted stubbornly and edged his way up to his feet, using the wall for support.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Castiel retorted and grabbed Dean’s arm and wrapped it around the back of his neck and slid his own arm around Dean’s waist to help him stand. Dean grunted in protest but didn’t push Cas away now and instead leant into him; the blood loss making all the colour drain from his face.

“So bossy,” Dean winced and Cas guided him out through the open doorway.

“Isn’t that what I’m here for, Dean?”

“You were supposed to stay in the car,” Dean reminded him; his jaw tensed.

“Yes, and if I had, you could very well be dead. You can lecture me later if you still feel so strongly about it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dean promised.

It had started to rain sometime during their brawl inside the cabin, and the dark clouds sweeping in from the horizon threatened a storm yet to come. Cas was determined to have them a safe distance from the cabin and the muddy road before it hit so the Impala wouldn’t get trapped in the middle of nowhere, but it was evident that Dean wasn’t fit to drive. Cas eased Dean down into the passenger seat and tried once again to inspect his wounds but even the rain couldn’t wash away the blood fast enough; the bleeding wasn’t showing any signs of stopping soon. Castiel frowned and quickly tugged his own shirt off and balled it up and held it to Dean’s head.

“You’ll get cold,” Dean mumbled and tried to give the shirt back. His eyes were drifting shut now and his face was a concerning shade of white that did nothing to settle Cas’ nerves.

“You have strange priorities,” Cas shook his head and held the shirt firmly against Dean’s wound and hoped it would help stop the bleeding. “Where did you put the keys?”

“Oh, you aren’t driving,” Dean replied quickly and placed his hand protectively over a lump in the pocket of his jeans.

“Why not?”

“This is my car,” Dean told him plainly but hardly put up a fight when Cas knocked Dean’s hand aside and dug the keys free from his pocket.

“Again, strange priorities,” Cas mused and made sure Dean was comfortably in his seat before closing the door. He shivered against the cold, his hair dripping into his eyes and his torso felt completely vulnerable now with no shirt on, but he took no time to retrieve a fresh shirt from the trunk. His priority now was to get back to the hotel where he could ensure Dean’s safety. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, allowing the heater to blast hot air directly into his face.

“Be careful with her. She’s my baby,” Dean requested in a daze, his eyes shut and his head dropped back against the seat.

“I’ll try my best,” Cas promised and then proceeded to cringe the very second the car thudded through a pothole in the road. Already the path was dangerously slick with rain and muddy puddles that gave him little to no perception of their depths, and the windscreen fogged up from the heater but he wouldn’t dare risk Dean getting hyperthermia from the cold. He would have to be as swift as possible without hindering his caution, which was never an easy feat.

Dean was quiet, and Cas glanced nervously in his direction. The car began to slide for a moment before Cas quickly tried to regain control and spun the wheel back firmly. He couldn’t allow himself to be so easily distracted, not even for a moment.

“Dean? Are you okay?” He asked, his hand itching to reach over and shake Dean’s shoulder or to settle on his knee or thigh. He just needed to touch Dean and feel the lingering warmth of his skin or even just the shallow movements of his body as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He needed any reassurance he could get that Dean was safe.

“I’m fine, Cas. It’s just a cut,” Dean muttered quietly.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Cas could hear the concern in his own voice, and he was sure Dean could hear it too.

“It’s a cut on my head, it’s gonna bleed a lot,” Dean assured him.

“Are you going to pass out?” Cas asked.

“No, I said I—”  

“Can you see clearly? Does your skin feel flushed? Are you—” Cas interrupted.

“Cas! Seriously, if you don’t shut up I’ll have to find a way to make you,” Dean warned and leaned his head down onto Castiel’s shoulder. Cas tensed for a moment, taken aback at Dean’s sudden willingness to not only be in his vicinity, but also to be so close as to touch him. After a moment, Cas relaxed and slowed down as they turned off the path and back onto the main road.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas mumbled. He was sorry for insisting they work the case when Dean hadn’t wanted to. He was sorry for burdening Dean with his own problems—after all, why else would Dean have taken him on this road trip? And he was sorry for pressuring Dean to treat him differently than he had in the past; for trying to force him into acknowledging a night he clearly didn’t wish to remember. He was sorry for everything.

“Save it, Cas. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said quietly, “and before you argue; you really don’t.”

Cas couldn’t believe him despite desperately wanting to. Though Sam and Dean had given him a place at their side he now truly believed that they didn’t want him there. They accepted him both out of need for his help and out of pity he didn’t deserve. He had wronged them so many times and in so many ways that there was just no forgiving himself. So how had he in any way earned Dean’s forgiveness even if the hunter didn’t really mean it?

“And Cas… we’ll talk about it, okay? Just… not yet,” Dean tilted his head to peer up at Cas, his eyes soft and full of promise.

“Only if you want to,” Cas swallowed against a lump in his throat and looked back to the road.

The windscreen wipers were on their fastest setting and yet it was near impossible to see where they were positioned on the road or whether any cars were approaching them from the opposite lane. Castiel couldn’t afford to be careless but Dean was making it difficult to focus with his cheek pressed to his bare shoulder, his breath warm against his skin. This was the closest they had been all week since that drunken night together in the back seat. In that time, with Dean dedicated entirely to the case, Cas had been left alone with his own thoughts.

Thoughts that would have buried him had circumstances allowed it.

 Had he been back at the bunker, there wouldn’t have been much of him left aside from an empty shell that existed purely for the sake of existing. At least out on the road he had somewhere to be and other things to think about, and Dean always there in the next bed. That last week of tense silences and muted rage had shattered the mirage of living as if he were actually coping.

The nightmares had turned savage over the past few nights and he had begun waking from them again numerous times throughout the night. Sometimes he swore he had seen Dean awake and watching him, but, at closer inspection, the hunter always appeared to be undisturbed; his lips slightly parted in an effortless slumber. Castiel still had no intention of mentioning these restless nights to Dean; assuming that he had enough to worry about without him burdening him further. But Cas was often tempted to say something; pushed by the horrors that flashed behind his eyelids each time he closed them, and the self-loathing that followed him upon waking to the reflection he saw in the mirror. Dean had a way of making him feel better without needing to try, but Cas felt it would be selfish to ask anything of him while the two of them were barely speaking. He now hoped that perhaps in future they could have what once was and then the nightmares would settle back into an unfortunate part of his rest rather than a complete disruption of his life.

Cas pulled in at the hotel and quickly got out and walked around to help Dean who was still half slumped towards the driver’s side of the seat. He worried that perhaps Dean was playing down his injuries and maybe he was much worse than he was letting on. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. He wordlessly insisted that Dean keep close to him as they navigated through the rain into the hotel. Once inside, Cas could see that a little colour had come back into Dean’s face and he seemed far more alert and perfectly capable to walk on his own; but the hunter hadn’t yet pushed Cas away or taken his arm away from his waist. They walked together back to their room where Cas eased Dean down onto the end of the bed and then knelt down in front of him with his hands momentarily resting on Dean’s knees.

“Show me,” he instructed gently and waited for Dean to lower the blood soaked shirt from his head. Most of the blood had washed away from the lower half of Dean’s face in the rain, but his forehead was still caked in it and the wound itself was dark and bleeding a little. He was relieved to see that the flow of blood had slowed to a near stop and tentatively reached up to get a sense of how deep the gash actually was. Dean winced but said nothing and allowed the former angel to poke and prod at him.

“So, tell me, doctor, will I live?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“I think so,” Cas told him seriously, “though I can’t say for sure as I am not a doctor.”

“Oh, you really don’t get roleplay,” Dean smirked and tossed the bloody shirt aside.

“Roleplay?” Cas tilted his head slightly to the side and furrowed his brow; confused. He was sure he had heard about the concept of roleplay before but couldn’t understand it in this context. But now Dean had sparked his curiosity and he longed to know more.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. It’s weird,” Dean chuckled.

“How about you explain it another time?” Cas suggested and stood upright to retrieve some supplies so he could clean Dean’s wound.

“I might hold you to that,” Dean agreed after a moment or two, “I’ll explain it. Or… I’ll show you. Either way.”

Castiel nodded appreciatively and came back with a wet cloth, “do you have any bandages?”

“Uh… we patch up most wounds using dental floss and a splash of whiskey, so… no, no I don’t have any bandages.”

“You really ought to have bandages,” Cas lectured and gently dabbed the wet cloth around the wound.

He should have known not to waste his breath on asking such a reasonable question of Dean. It was typical of him and his brother to be careless with their wellbeing. They had both grown accustomed to these impractical methods and saw no need to change. It hadn’t been such a concern in the past when Cas could heal them in an instant, but now he realised just how irresponsible it really was. In his mind, he made a point for later reference to force them to change their ways.

“Yeah, well, I really ought to have a lot of things but I get by just fine without them,” Dean shrugged. The hunter appraised him carefully and seemed almost amused as he said; “you know you could put on a shirt, right?”

“I could but this seems to be the priority, yes?” Cas focused on cleaning the skin around the gash before getting up again to rinse out the cloth. He saw no point in attending to his own needs before Dean’s; after all, he had sat back and allowed the hunter to go into the cabin alone. He was the reason Dean was injured in the first place.

“I guess so,” Dean watched him as he walked to and from the kitchen, his eyes trailing the length of his 6’ frame. “I smeared blood all over you,” Dean commented.

“That’s another concern for later,” Cas began to clean the actual cut and Dean winced again.

“Jesus, whatever happened to steady hands? I’m not a piece of meat, Cas, I can feel that,” Dean withdrew from his touch; suddenly on guard.

“Sorry. I haven’t got much experience in patching up wounds. I’m still used to being able to heal people with a single touch,” Cas said. It was true that he had, upon first seeing the extent of Dean’s injuries, instinctively reached out with the intention to not only check on him but to also try and heal him. Of course it had been hopeless.

He tried to be gentler in his next approach and barely touched Dean as he saw to his injuries. His posture visibly slackened and his jaw hardened as he pressed his lips into a firm line. He knew he had become useless to the Winchesters since losing his grace. There was nothing he could give while he had no choice but to take. He couldn’t protect them or fight for them the way he used to and he had no place as a hunter—something he had already tried with very little to contribute. They didn’t need him anymore; or at the very least they only needed him as he was before.

Dean noticed the change in Castiel’s expression and frowned. “You really miss it, huh? Being an angel?”

 “Do you, uh…” Cas took a deep breath and shook his head before trying again. “Do you remember telling me how living a normal life was good in theory but complicated in practice?”

“I think so… not word for word or anything but... What’s your point?” Dean patted the space next to him and Cas obliged his invitation and sat down with his shoulder pressed against Dean’s. The hunter’s hand very barely traced his leg in a lazy backward and forward motion; travelling the length of Castiel’s thigh to his knee. Cas melted under even this slightest touch. He felt like he could tell Dean anything despite all earlier objections about doing so.

“It’s the same for me. I know you have reservations about the angels—as do I, but that was my life for a very long time. For millennia. From creation to less than a month ago, you understand?”

“Waking up in a new skin, I get it,” Dean said.

“There’s a lot to miss, Dean. My home. My family…” Cas wrung his hands in his lap. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t talk about this—especially not with Dean of all people. But the hunter had a way of dragging it out of him, and his hand was now more purposeful on his leg; more present.

“So you’d go back then? If you could?”

“I don’t think that’s an option…” Cas said, surprised. Dean had gotten quiet and hesitant and purposely averted his gaze to the window or the floor: anywhere except looking at him. His hand had slowed and then stopped on Castiel’s knee.

“Humour me, Cas. If you had the chance to be an angel again, would you take it?” Dean pleaded and finally looked at him.

There was something troubled in Dean’s expression. He looked at Castiel as if the former angel could very well disappear at any moment. That maybe he wasn’t even truly there to begin with. Dean looked at Castiel as if he were something fleeting and unattainable. As if Cas was an idea rather than a reality. And Castiel couldn’t get past that glimpse of pain he saw in Dean’s piercing gaze and he had to wonder what it meant.

“Humanity isn’t without its perks, Dean. There’s much to consider—even hypothetically,” Cas responded carefully. The words felt like lies on his tongue because Dean had this air about him that so often made Cas vulnerable to telling the truth—but now there was something in his watchful eyes that made honesty feel dangerous. He tried to sidestep the whole truth to how humanity settled uncomfortably in his chest.  Instead of admitting how mortality felt burdensome and cruel to him, or how the stolen grace had left him in the void, he sought out whatever words he thought Dean needed to hear.

“Perks, huh? Like what?” Dean echoed in obvious disbelief. It mustn’t have escaped his notice that Cas was only telling a partial truth to hoard the bigger picture. Or perhaps he just expected as much of him.

“Well, as a human I get to see everything through a new set of eyes. Everything is less focused, less detailed… Humans overlook a lot. But somehow that makes everything all the more beautiful, you know?”

“Oh dear lord, are you going to start reciting poetry or something?” Dean wrinkled his nose in mock disgust.

Cas nudged Dean’s shoulder with his own and smiled sheepishly, “the road less travelled by making all the difference?”

Dean groaned and shook his head, smiling sadly, “don’t think I don’t know that you’re giving me the easy answer, Cas. I’m being serious.”

Cas sighed and he turned slightly so he could resume tending to Dean’s wound. “Dean, you’ve made being human more appealing than I could have ever expected. Even if you do play your music too loud and eat very questionable food sometimes. And I certainly don’t wish to ever drink that much again ever in my lifetime… But it has been fun.”

Castiel’s hands drifted away from Dean’s face as he finished up and felt satisfied that he had done the best that he could for the cut. The hunter watched him, never breaking eye contact as Cas rested his hand gently on Dean’s bicep. There was something to his touch that lacked innocence somehow. It meant something more and both of them knew it. Castiel waited with bated breath, curious as to whether Dean would pull away this time. He didn’t. Not right away at least.

Castiel’s eyes flickered down to Dean’s lips and he leant in that little bit closer but made no other approach. He wasn’t prepared to try kissing Dean without first knowing that the hunter wanted him to. It seemed that they had reached a point where Dean was once again comfortable being around him and Cas didn’t want to jeopardise that. But hope still lingered in Cas that maybe one day, in the distant future, they could be something more.

Finally, Dean pulled away. And Castiel’s heart sunk.

“I’m really tired,” Dean mumbled. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “we’ll head off in the morning.”

“Back to the bunker?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean shook his head, “I’ll have to text Sam tomorrow that we took care of the vamp. He doesn’t need us.”

“But… do you need him?” Cas watched as Dean went into the bathroom to change.

“I’ve got you, don’t I?” Dean asked before closing the door.

“You’ve got me,” Cas confirmed but now he was talking to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, when Cas emerged bathed and dressed for bed, the lights were already off. He crept quietly through the dark and felt around for the edge of his bed and carefully slipped under the covers. He assumed Dean was already asleep as he could hear the hunter’s steady breaths coming from the next bed. He tried to settle down but couldn’t get comfortable no matter which way he turned or where he positioned his head on the pillow. Cas tugged the blanket right up under his chin and closed his eyes, trying to focus on nothing but his growing exhaustion. He didn’t see the shadow of Dean as he came over to his bed.

Suddenly he felt the blankets being lifted and the weight of another body beside him. Dean’s arm draped easily around Castiel’s waist and his breath was warm on the back of his neck. Cas stiffened at first and he opened his eyes wide; startled.

“Dean? What are you—” He started.

“Shhh. Just try and sleep,” Dean whispered and nuzzled his face more into the crook of Castiel’s neck.

Cas fell quiet and soon melted into the curve of Dean’s body; his back against Dean’s chest and the hunter’s knees rested perfectly behind his; their legs fitting together like two puzzle pieces. Despite it being a double-bed, they established a place together directly in the middle and the edges were cold with abandon. They silently agreed not to let each other go.

“Cas? Are you going to stay? Even if you get your grace back? I’ve got you, don’t I?” Dean asked quietly. His lips brushed lightly at the skin of Castiel’s neck as he spoke, making the former angel shiver.

Castiel closed his eyes again and found Dean’s hand in the dark and placed his own hand over it.

“Of course, Dean. You’ve got me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! Please leave any comments you might have as they well and truly motivate me and make my day! I'll hopefully have the next chapter up in a week or so! Keep an eye out for more!


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel dragged himself to the car the next morning with his head dipped low and his duffel bag held precariously close to the ground. Once again Dean had given him a rude awakening at what felt like a truly ungodly hour. What made it worse was that they had no deadline or schedule of any kind—in a way it seemed as if Dean insisted on these early starts purely to get on Castiel’s nerves. Deep down Cas knew this wasn’t the case, but at 5am, he wasn’t about to be reasonable. Sometimes the hunter made himself so easy to dislike, and yet Cas would have given in to him with very little persuasion: and he had done just that. When Dean had shaken him awake less than fifteen minutes earlier, he and Cas had once again wrestled with the blankets, but this time Dean cheated. He had effortlessly climbed on top of Cas with his knees on the bed either side of Cas’ hips; using his weight to hold the former angel down. Then his hands had pulled the blanket free from Castiel’s grip and then pinned Cas’ hands back behind his head.

“Are you going to get up now?” Dean had asked with a satisfied smile; aware that he had full control over Castiel, and that the former angel was too stunned to fight back.

Cas had been far too embarrassed to admit that, well, at least a part of him was already starting to get up since Dean was straddling his lap like that. He had known that, had he not done something then and there, Dean was sure to feel him soon and then everything they had rebuilt was sure to shatter. With wide, panicked eyes, Cas had slipped a hand free from Dean’s grasp and then pushed the hunter off of him with as much force as he could muster. He reasoned that aggression was less likely to offend Dean than feeling his sexual arousal.

“Woah, easy there,” Dean had retorted as he had quickly tried to regain his balance and saved himself from falling off the edge of the bed. “I know you hate mornings, but Jesus…”

“Sorry…” Cas hadn’t known what else to say. How could he have possibly explained his situation without facing the inevitable fall out in which Dean would once again act as if he wasn’t even there? That wasn’t something he could withstand this time, so he had clambered into the bathroom without saying another word.

And now Dean was waiting for him in the car; smiling out the open window at the tired former angel. Either the hunter hadn’t thought much of Castiel’s odd and rather abrupt behaviour, or he had already forgiven him for it without even needing to hear the apology. But Cas was going to say it now all the same.

“Dean, about earlier…” he began, standing awkwardly and ducking his head down to peer at Dean in the driver’s seat.

“Cas, let’s not have any serious talks today, alright?” Dean pleaded casually and gestured for Cas to hop into the car.

Castiel once again obliged him and walked round to the passenger seat without question or argument. He had to admit that a day void of anything real and awful and serious appealed greatly to him. He nodded once in quiet agreement.

“Alright then,” Dean grinned and opened up the glove compartment; “take your pick.”

“I get to…” Cas blinked in surprise and his hand hovered over the various cassette tapes, hesitant to touch them before knowing he really had permission. “Whatever happened to your rule? Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and looked sheepish as he said; “Well, you’re still choosing from my collection, so how bad could it be?”

Cas smiled to himself and dipped his head down so Dean couldn’t see it. It was the smallest of gestures, and Dean was downplaying the importance of it, but this was Dean opening his world up to Cas and giving him free rein to do what he liked with it. This was Dean letting Cas into his true home and saying; ‘move in’. This was Dean telling him exactly where he belonged and that he was wanted. And nothing could have made Castiel happier.

He wanted Dean to know that he heard him and that the sentiment was more than appreciated, so he decided to show him the only way he knew how. Cas sifted through the cassette tapes until he found the one he wanted and he slipped it into the stereo without showing Dean what it was. And then one of the hunter’s favourite songs started to play.

Castiel glanced over at Dean and saw the look of acknowledgment in his eyes and the twitch of a small smile tugging at his lips. And he knew then that Dean understood. That he saw Cas for who he was and didn’t want him to change. That he knew what Castiel wanted but that the decision was now purely his to make.

“You’ve gotta sing now,” Dean insisted elatedly.

“Says who?” Cas asked with a raise brow; perplexed.

“The tradition, that’s who,” Dean told him and nudged his shoulder, looking back and forth between him and the road. His eyes were alight with a childlike excitement and his smile touched on mischievous. The cut on Dean’s head appeared less serious than it had last night and apparently he paid no mind to it now; just another cut like any other. Cas, again, found comfort in knowing Dean was safe.

“The tradition being that I must be subjected to complete humiliation?”

“Of course not. Both of us must be subjected to it,” Dean corrected him. “Now come on! Live a little, Cas.”

“I don’t hear you singing,” Cas pointed out and crossed his arms. He rubbed his left arm absently and looked to Dean with pleading eyes.  

He was nervous. And he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. He found that in the face of chaos and torment there was an abnormal sense of clarity; as if he was created with a natural calm that made him a true, capable soldier. But then when faced with even the most mundane aspects of humanity, he lost himself. As if he were a part of a whole new world that he had never even seen before despite now having been on Earth for a number of years. It never ceased to amaze him how much there was to learn and see and understand and feel. He realised how complicated and intricate it all was and saw beauty here that was lacking back in Heaven.

And he thought that maybe this onset of sudden and intense apprehension was nothing more than a fear of doing something wrong. It was inexplicable. Confusing. But it occurred to him that he didn’t want to sing purely because he thought he would get the words wrong. There seemed to be something blasphemous in that. Like he would be committing a major disservice to what was now his own kind. He thought how this may have stemmed from this ever-present belief that he didn’t belong here… or—anywhere, for that matter.

“If I start, you have to join in,” Dean reasoned finally, “you can’t leave me hanging.”

“If you say so, Dean,” Cas said hesitantly. Dean had invited him into his life. Cas had been invited to belong. He needed to believe that he belonged. He needed to let go of the feelings of inadequacy and leave the past behind as a distant memory so he could look to the future and know that his mistakes weren’t what defined him, and that there was so much good he could do and be.

And that there was Dean.  

Somehow, someway, Dean was always there. They had been through a lot together, Cas realised. And somehow all the good moments stood out from the bad, like a glowing beacon to show him what really mattered. In times of turmoil, Dean could turn to Cas, and Cas to Dean, and that was the true miracle. And having the hunter looking at him like he was the sun rising at the edges of the pitch black night made Castiel open his mouth and sing along with him.

They were both ridiculously out of tune, but Dean had an assurance about him that made it all seem so purposeful and effortless. The hunter threw all his energy into it and tapped the steering wheel in time to the gentle beat and raised his voice for the chorus. It clearly didn’t matter to him when Cas’ voice faded into indiscernible mumbling at the parts he couldn’t remember. Accuracy wasn’t important; but his participation was. And that gave Cas the confidence to sing louder and he swayed into Dean’s side with a whole-hearted ease.

“Is the tradition satisfied?” He asked finally as the song came to an end.

“You know what? I think it is,” Dean said. “The question is, are you?”

“Am I satisfied?”

Dean nodded once and looked back to the road with a smile still lingering on his lips. Though now there was something uncertain and sad about it. Something almost lost and out of place; like he were smiling only to conceal whatever burden was behind it.

“You know what? I think I am,” Cas confirmed and gazed out the window. He was struck by the sudden shift in their dynamic. He knew this wasn’t meaningless.

“I didn’t just mean with the song, Cas,” Dean murmured. “Are you satisfied with this? With me?”

“I don’t understand,” Cas frowned, “and this, to me, seems like a serious discussion. Which you said we weren’t having today. Is it not serious?”

“No, it’s not serious. It’s just two guys having a chat…” Dean puckered his lips timidly and his knee shook as he tapped the foot that wasn’t pressed to the accelerator. “Look, say this _was_ something, would you be satisfied in knowing that it may not be everything you wanted?”

“Dean, I think this is serious—” Cas started. His heart was hammering again.

“Trust me, it’s not,” Dean interrupted quickly. His cheeks had actually flushed a little pink. “It might seem like it, but don’t be fooled. This is completely unserious.”

“Um, well I suppose that it depends. What do you think I want?”

“I don’t know. More than I can probably give.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Cas turned back to the window. Were he to look at Dean, he knew he was bound to say something he shouldn’t, and he knew that the hunter needed space to gather his thoughts—whatever those thoughts may be.

“Look, Cas, what we did… That wasn’t nothing.”

“So it was something?” Cas asked.

“Yes. It was something. But I still don’t know what exactly.” Dean nudged Cas’ leg with his knee, making him turn to look at him. “I’ve felt like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Jeez, I don’t know… I guess maybe for sucking you off and then ignoring you. Like you were just some kind of one night stand. Like you didn’t really matter.” Dean looked angry. His jaw tensed and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “What a way to treat you. I’m an idiot.”

“Dean, ‘being an idiot’ and ‘idiotic behaviour’ aren’t always the same thing,” Cas said.

Dean chuckled darkly, “I appreciate that. But right now that doesn’t really make any of this better. I could see you were hurt and confused, and I left you in the dark anyway.”

“It was… rather perplexing,” Cas admitted quietly, “I almost called Sam to ask what it meant or what I ought to do.”

Dean laughed again, but this time with some actual humour, “I’m really glad you didn’t. Can’t even imagine how that conversation would have gone down.”

“So can you tell me? What I ought to do?” Cas asked.

“I’ll tell you when I know,” Dean assured him, “right now though… I have no idea. Sorry.”

Cas nodded wisely and switched out the cassette tapes so he had something to do with his hands. Neither of them had been paying any mind to the music though since that first song ended. Dean was still on Castiel’s mind, and he wondered if he was on Dean’s. The hunter appeared almost at ease again with his posture softening and easing back comfortably against the seat, with one hand dropped away from the wheel and instead rested casually on his knee. Castiel mimicked him and leaned his shoulder against the car door.

“While we’re being unserious, I have to ask,” Dean said abruptly and grinned slyly at Cas. The hunter raised his eyebrows knowingly. “What was that back there? Near shoving me off the bed?”

“I don’t like being woken early,” Cas answered quickly. He could feel heat travelling up his neck and into his cheeks but there was nowhere he could turn to hide the sudden redness from Dean.

“That’s it?” Dean moved his hand from his knee and brushed his fingers lightly against Castiel’s thigh.

“Uh… yes. I’ve told you before how I don’t like being up any time before 9,” Cas struggled to maintain his composure. These days he so easily melted at Dean’s touch, and even now he couldn’t fully fathom why that was or what it meant, or if that was even a bad thing.

“Well, maybe if I just woke you up a different way,” Dean purred playfully.

Cas swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat, “A different way?”

“Yeah. A different way,” Dean chuckled but made no attempt to elaborate further on what he meant. His hand was still pressed to Castiel’s upper thigh and his fingers lazily traced the seam of his jeans.

Castiel shivered a little and his skin tingled in unexpected anticipation, though he didn’t know what for. This wasn’t the first time Dean had done this, and nothing had ever come of it, so there was nothing to say that something would come of it now. It was so light and unassuming, yet Cas still thought that the touch lacked innocence somehow. And a part of him was certain that Dean thought as much too.

“A different way—” Cas echoed and rubbed the back of his neck meekly.

They both fell silent, but Dean’s hand remained a constant presence at Castiel’s leg; sometimes trailing to the knee and back thoughtlessly. Cas had the dangerous idea of perhaps one day doing the same to Dean—he was curious as to how he would react to the same touch.

“Well would you look at that,” Dean said and pulled over to the side of the road. “Ever gone swimming in a lake?”

“When would I have had occasion?” Cas pointed out. He could just barely see the lake through the line of trees.

“Me neither,” Dean shut off the ignition and turned to face Cas, “Last and only time had the downside of a dead kid trying to pull me under. Think it’s time for a redo. And hope nothing touches my foot.”

“That is not comforting, Dean,” Cas wrinkled his nose. “Really makes me want to go swimming.”

“I know how to paint a picture,” Dean beamed, “let’s go.”

“Isn’t it too cold?”

Dean shrugged dismissively and got out of the car. Cas watched as the hunter shook off his jacket and flannel shirt and dumped them on the seat before tugging his t-shirt off over his head. Dean ducked his head down and peered curiously at Cas who was now gawking at his naked torso.

“You tell me. Is it too cold, Cas?” Dean asked with a crooked smile and gently thumped the roof of the Impala with his hand.

“I guess not,” Cas mumbled and slowly got out of the car. There was no denying his allure to Dean, or how it had grown even stronger at the sight of him half undressed and so assertive and vivacious.

“Good,” Dean nodded approvingly and shut his car door before walking into the thin canopy of trees and disappearing from sight the closer he got to the edge of the lake.

Cas took a deep breath and followed him uncertainly. He edged his way through the trees and paused to watch Dean kicking off his shoes and tugging off his jeans. The air wasn’t as icy as it had been the past few weeks and the sun was now at its highest peak in the sky, the warm rays beaming down onto their faces. But he had little doubt that the lake would be any warmer than freezing. It occurred to him that he should stop Dean, and he certainly shouldn’t join him, but instead he found himself unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

“Need a hand?” Dean offered; his eyes travelled the length of Castiel’s body.

“I uh… you’re offering?” Cas shrugged off his coat and shirt and shivered at the sudden breeze against his skin.

“Or I could just watch,” Dean said smoothly and actually winked.

Castiel blushed a deep scarlet and clumsily took off his shoes and tucked his socks neatly into them. He was delaying the inevitable, not because he didn’t want to swim with Dean, but because he did—he was almost afraid of this desire, and wasn’t so sure of his restraint. There was a chance of him staring too long or standing too close, and he believed it wasn’t his place to initiate such things. He moved wherever Dean wanted him, and tried to wait for invitation.

“You coming in or what?” Dean asked and edged cautiously into the water. His shoulders tensed and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Cold?” Cas asked knowingly and smiled.

“Yup. Freezing,” Dean admitted with a shaky laugh, “So?”

“So this is stupid,” Cas said plainly but stood with his toes almost dipping in.

“Yup. Very stupid,” Dean agreed, “Am I going to be stupid alone?”

Cas shook his head and bravely waded in, “I should let you do it alone. But no. I’m stupid too.”

Dean dipped his head and smiled briefly, “regret it yet?”

Cas was quiet for a moment as he huddled in on himself and stepped closer to Dean so the water was almost up to his armpits. His whole body felt tingly and almost numb as the cold bit at his skin and left goose bumps up his arms.

“Deeply regret it, yes,” Cas told him through chattering teeth and he stood, shivering, in front of the hunter.

“I think actually swimming may be out of the question,” Dean decided too late and reached out to grab Castiel’s arm. The hunter dragged the former angel in closer and huddled him protectively into his side with his hand snaking around his back. “Dare to dunk your head under?”

“Even I’m not _that_ stupid, Dean. Not even for you,” Cas laughed shakily, “but be my guest if the idea appeals so much to you.”

“You know what? I think I’m good,” Dean replied smartly then jerked suddenly, accidentally splashing Cas in the face. “Something touched my foot. Oh god, I’m not kidding.”

“That would be my foot, Dean,” Cas sighed and wiped hopelessly at his face with his arm but it was too late; the wind was bitter against his lips, nose and cheeks as it blew lazily against his wet face.

“Oh… so it was,” Dean rubbed Castiel’s arm sheepishly, his eyes warm in apology. “My mistake.”

“You’re hopeless,” Cas teased but now he was shuddering worse than ever and could barely maintain eye contact with the hunter. As a human, he found that he had little to no tolerance for early mornings or cold weather or spicy food, amongst other things. Dean, however, whilst not exactly privy to many of the same things, at least had perseverance. He seemed far more capable of staying there in the lake for longer just for the sake of doing so, but it mustn’t have escaped his notice that Cas simply couldn’t.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before you freeze to death,” Dean decided and guided Castiel out of the lake.

Immediately Cas was struck by how much worse it was outside of the water and he hurried ahead of Dean back to the car, leaving him behind to gather whatever clothes they had left behind. He took no time to even grab his shoes and so he treaded precariously back through the trees and climbed clumsily into the backseat to curl up into a tight ball in hopes of warming himself up.

“You’re hopeless,” Dean teased, purposely mocking him as he finally joined him and sat down in the backseat; barely finding room with Castiel taking up most of the space. “Scoot over a bit would you?”

“D…Dean, let’s never do this again,” Cas suggested imploringly.

“You read my mind,” Dean laughed and nudged Cas aside a little so he could get comfortable.

The former angel could feel Dean shivering and he realised that he too was freezing cold—he was just better at handling it. Or hiding it. He reached out and held Dean’s wrist tenderly in his hand and pulled him in closer; his brow furrowed with silent hesitation. There was something daring in holding Dean first, but he suddenly felt sure that it was the right thing to do.

“From now on you should come up with all the ideas,” Dean sighed and leaned into Cas. “What do you want to do?”

“Go to the next hotel, curl up in bed to watch television and eat some junk food,” Cas told him. He picked up the blanket that had been left abandoned from all those nights ago when Dean had covered him with it after their drunken encounter. “But first, I am too cold to even think.”

“I’m too cold to even drive,” Dean laughed and helped him pull the blanket over the both of them.

“We’ve gotten the seat all wet,” Cas commented guiltily.

“Yeah, well, the Impala has had worse,” Dean dismissed and adjusted himself in his seat so he and Cas were sitting closer as the blanket was already stretched as far as it could go.

“You aren’t wrong,” Cas agreed. His posture tensed and he fell suspiciously quiet as he looked searchingly at the floor, and he could feel Dean’s eyes boring into him with sparked curiosity. Slowly, Cas brushed his fingers against Dean’s naked thigh and he glanced nervously up to witness his reaction.

Dean shivered again, and Cas watched him as he shifted almost uncomfortably in his seat. Cas immediately felt a pang of regret in seeing Dean’s obvious discomfort and he withdrew his hand with no further attempt at touching his skin. But then Dean put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and held him safely at his side; their wet bodies now flush together and the shared body temperatures became almost too warm suddenly.

Cas dared to try again, and this time he traced Dean’s leg from his knee to his hip and then slowly back again. Dean’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Both of them seemed to melt into one another without question, and soon their legs were tangled together, though Cas couldn’t think of when it happened. His hand moved across Dean’s leg to his inner thigh with more certainty and Dean’s breath suddenly hitched.

“So that’s what that feels like…”Dean mused quietly and smirked, “still being completely unserious, Cas, but you should have told me that I was being such a fucking tease.”

“I didn’t think I was supposed to comment on it,” Cas explained, his hand still on Dean’s thigh but his fingers now twitched lazily closer to his crotch.

“We should go,” Dean sighed and suddenly pulled away and got out of the car. He moved so fast that Cas couldn’t be entirely sure, but he swore he saw a particular bulge in Dean’s boxers that hadn’t been so prominent earlier, and he realised that maybe his touch had more power than he had thought.

Dean appeared again in the open doorway after a minute or two, already dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, and he tossed some clothes at Cas. “Still wanna curl up in bed with some food and tv?” Dean asked.

“Is that what you want?” Cas asked and pulled on his shirt.

Dean smiled a little, “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

Dean moved to the driver’s seat and sat down to wait for Cas to get dressed and then join him at his side. There was something decisive in his expression; something akin to closure or ease, as if he had found that there were no more questions to answer. Cas observed the hunter as he gazed out the windscreen, and took note at the softness to his jaw and lips, and the delicate, almost imperceptible change to his eyes that near glistened with contentment.

Castiel thought that, maybe, just maybe, Dean had finally taken it upon himself to ask what Cas wanted, and had found that it wasn’t more than what he could give.

Maybe it was exactly what he wanted too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I feel like it is taking me longer to update now, but I promise new chapters will keep coming until it's finished. Any feedback you have to offer would be greatly appreciated! I hope you are liking it so far. :)


	8. Chapter 8

“The only room we have spare has just the one queen bed,” the receptionist informed them with a purposeful glance cast back and forth between them. She stared at their wet hair and damp shirts with obvious suspicion, considering this was the first day in a while that it hadn’t rained.

“That’s fine,” Dean replied easily, already digging through his pockets for cash. “We’ll take it for three nights.”

Castiel blinked in surprise and looked to Dean with a mystified raise of his brow, and Dean smiled back at him with a sly coolness that suggested a peculiar ease. Dean was comfortable with this new arrangement that had been thrust upon them by circumstance, and Cas was absolutely baffled by it. Until now, Dean had set the boundaries and moved into Cas’ personal space as he pleased; knowing the invitation was always open to him.

So where had this sudden willingness to be irrevocably close to him come from?

“Here’s your key. If you have any problems, feel free to contact me here at the desk,” the receptionist said politely and Dean took the key from her outstretched hand, and gestured for Cas to follow him.

Cas hitched his bag up more securely onto his shoulder and followed silently after Dean. He still felt unpleasantly cold and wanted nothing more than to shower and curl up in bed in the comfort of his—or rather, Dean’s—pyjamas. There was something to be said of this particular human experience that he hadn’t realised he had been missing, and was sure that it wouldn’t feel the same for an angel. Even now, were he to get his grace back, he imagined the impossibility of living a lifestyle like this without overthinking it. There were too many intricacies involved like the texture of the blankets and the recognition of changing temperatures without physically being able to feel it. There was still that simplicity to human kind that awed him where it disgusted others—where the angels saw reason to look down upon the humans as lesser beings created with the burden of mortality.

More and more, Castiel was able to see beauty in this impermanent existence. He recognised time as this fleeting thing and found that it made life itself into something precious and worthy of care. And graceless, he saw more in Dean than he ever had before; and that, he realised, was irreversible—never mind where he and Dean would find themselves in the next five, ten or thirty years.

Ultimately, he knew there was a big part of him that still longed for home, but every day that part shrunk just that little bit more. Though he still wished for the angels to see the world the way he did, or to at least catch a glimpse so they could understand why it was their duty to protect humankind. He wanted to repair the damage he had caused and see his siblings wonder freely between Heaven and Earth without war or hatred.

Somehow he couldn’t let this reverie go, no matter how impossible he knew it to be.

“Earth to Cas,” Dean waved his hand in front of Castiel’s face and grinned when the former angel shook his head, startled. “You’re adorable when you daydream like that,” Dean teased, though he seemed half serious as he gazed upon Cas with genuine adoration.

“Lost in thought,” Cas murmured distractedly and set his bag down. He pulled awkwardly at his shirt that was now clinging to his still slightly damp torso.

“Thinking bout me, I hope,” Dean laughed with an obvious wink, trying yet again to make Castiel blush.

“I do think about you often,” Cas admitted seriously and peeked into the bathroom to inspect the state of the shower and hoped desperately for good water pressure—something he hadn’t yet found at any single place they had stayed for all these weeks.

“I knew it,” Dean replied, chuffed.

“Was hardly a secret though, was it?” Castiel unzipped his bag and dug through it for his pyjamas.

“Nah, I guess not,” Dean granted and then rubbed his hands together in an abrupt display of joy, “Oh hell yeah, they’ve got a minibar. Costs an eye and a foot, but it’s worth it.”

Cas watched on in amusement as Dean knelt down to inspect the contents of the minibar with an enthusiasm that resembled that of times when he had flirted with an attractive female at a bar—with far more success than the failed attempt with Veronica what felt like forever ago.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Cas said smartly and stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“Don’t take too long!” Dean called out to him.

Castiel shed off his damp clothes and kicked them aside with immense relief to be rid of them. He turned on the shower and waited impatiently for the water to get hot, but even then it barely reached warm and he realised it was the best he was going to get. And that it wouldn’t last long. By the time he stepped in and shampooed his hair the temperature had already dropped to almost freezing so he had little choice but to rush and then finally gave up when he started to shiver.

Disappointed, Cas dried off, got dressed, and then went back out into the room and immediately buried himself beneath the blankets on the bed. He curled up tightly and nuzzled his face into his pillow. Suddenly Dean pulled back the blanket a little and peered in at him with sparked curiosity.

“What’s the tragedy?” He asked.

“It’s bad, Dean. It’s awful,” Cas groaned, “there’s no hot water.”

“Wow, so dramatic,” Dean chuckled and dropped the blankets back down. “Then I’ll have to make it quick. Don’t hog the blankets, ‘cause I’m gonna need them when I come back.”

“You might have to fight me for them,” Castiel warned and clutched onto the blankets protectively.

He knew that it wouldn’t take much for Dean to convince him to share, or even to sacrifice them altogether. With very little persuasion he could very well find himself giving up the bed and taking the small couch, because Dean now knew exactly what touches weakened him most. Dean knew what hold he had over him, and Cas didn’t think it was beyond him to take advantage of it.

He could hear the water running for all of five minutes with the occasional shivered curse echoing from the bathroom as Dean battled the cold shower before giving up much the same way Castiel had. And Cas smiled fondly as he listened to the hunter in the next room, though it didn’t escape his attention that Dean was fully undressed now with nothing but a door separating them. It was impossible not to picture him naked, and remember what it felt like to kiss and caress his body. And he hoped now that the opportunity to do it again hadn’t escaped him, since his touch had aroused Dean not even a half an hour before.

“Well you weren’t wrong,” Dean emerged a few minutes later and turned off the lights before quickly climbing in beside Castiel. “Froze my ass off in there,” he complained.

Cas automatically scooted over and made room for the hunter; allowing him an equal share of the blankets, though he did withdraw when Dean’s cold feet touched his legs.

“Your feet too apparently,” Cas groaned and Dean chortled lightly.

“Sorry,” Dean turned onto his back, but his hand found Castiel’s in the dark and gently caressed the back of it and traced his fingers delicately.

They both fell quiet and all that could be heard was the faint buzzing of someone’s television a room or two over and the dripping of the shower tap in their bathroom. Castiel squirmed a little and swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. Almost cautiously, he turned to look at the shadow of Dean beside him. Dean, who so often permeated a false air of self-assurance, now seemed timid. The hunter was uncharacteristically quiet when often times before he had made a point of making a quippy remark of some kind—most referencing things Castiel didn’t understand. Cas wished he would say something—anything—that could enlighten him as to whether it was okay to move in closer.

But then what good did it do for either of them to hide the mutual desire to be with the other? If in fact that desire was truly there at all, which Castiel believed it was despite all his earlier doubts suggesting otherwise. It was in the way Dean looked at him sometimes; the same way men looked at women in some of the movies he had watched out of boundless curiosity. It was in the way Dean had touched him; his hands strong and resolute on his hips in a way that made him feel so safe. And it was in the way Dean had kissed him; his lips passionate but then lingering with a genuine affection that escaped the bounds of sexual desire and explored intimacy at its purest form.

Maybe Cas was crazy—and he knew that was always a distinct possibility—but there was no denying the longing he had for it all to be true.

He knew realistically he and Dean had very little in the way of hope. There were complications that couldn’t be ignored and history that couldn’t be buried deep enough. But he’d come to understand how the heart and mind didn’t always correlate, and he found himself still wanting Dean despite rationalising why he shouldn’t have him.

Now he was making the heart choice rather than the smart choice; which was perhaps the most human decision he had ever made.

Cas sat up and fumbled for the light switch on his bedside lamp, turning it on so a pale light was cast over them both. He saw Dean furrow his brow at the ceiling at wonderment as to what on earth Castiel could be up to now.

Cas had never seen someone quite so beautiful before Dean.

So Castiel decided that he finally dared, and he slowly leaned in closer and kissed gently at the hunter’s neck—the way he had done to Cas all those nights ago. He mirrored Dean’s actions the way he remembered them; his hand finding the material of Dean’s shirt and holding onto it whilst his kisses travelled down his throat to his collarbone.

Dean sighed softly and held Castiel’s hand now with more purpose and pulled the former angel in closer. Castiel’s heart leapt at the gesture. The hunter seemed to fall apart immediately at his touch and surrendered completely beneath his lips as if having already decided this was what he wanted.

And Dean made it feel so easy.

 As Castiel moved into the curves of Dean’s body the desire burned as strongly as it had the first time, with the touch of Dean’s skin like something electric and the scent of his usual shampoo like something exotic and the taste of his lips like something thrillingly sinful.

But as they eased into it—still gradually exploring the boundaries of one another—the manic heat was like a familiar warmth, and Cas found that there was no passion lost in that. As they easily shed one another’s clothes, the former angel discovered a whole new sensation in kissing Dean without being under the influence of alcohol and without the confines of the Impalas backseat. There was something new here, yet something wonderfully familiar as well, and a quiet moan passed Castiel’s lips.

Dean’s fingers brushed through his hair and slipped down to his shoulders, pulling him in nearer. Castiel’s hands sought whatever part of Dean he could touch as he finally began to lose every shred of self-control he had. He clasped at Dean’s biceps and clawed hungrily at his back, soon tracing down his chest and holding his hips before repeating the process over again. He was far more manic now than the hunter; almost stunned by the sensation of touch and compelled by the warmth of another person, and he took Dean’s bottom lip between his with far more reckless abandon.

Dean, in turn, was enticed by Castiel’s desperation and moved into him with a submissive ease and became aroused by the former angel’s heated touch.

Castiel ground his hips against Dean’s and moaned into his mouth and then lightly tugged the hunter’s bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted every part of Dean and was now hopelessly overwhelmed at having him. This was really Dean beneath him as he moved and straddled his thighs, and it was really Dean leaning up to kiss him after they took a moment to part and breathe.

Dean’s mouth was hot and wet against his and his kisses moved to his neck where he nipped and sucked at his skin. Cas leaned down into him with his hands planted on the bed either side of Dean, the sheets clenched in his fists as his erection prodded at the hunter’s stomach. There was no need now to conceal his arousal from Dean, and the pleasure of the friction alone was enough to keep him from trying anyway, but there was no keeping the instinctive blush from reddening his cheeks. This didn’t escape Dean’s notice as he once again pulled back for breath and gazed up at Castiel. Dean caressed Cas’ face with his thumb gently brushing over his cheekbone, his swollen, wet lips quirking into a crooked smile as his eyes flashed with recognisable adoration.

“Do I still make you nervous?” Dean breathed; his chest rising and falling rapidly as Castiel had successfully taken all the air out of him.

“You make me feel many things, Dean. Nervous barely even begins to cover it,” Castiel admitted.

“Well, what else then?” Dean asked. He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s neck and gently guided him down again so he could tenderly kiss him once more.

“You can feel my erection jutting against your stomach, isn’t that telling enough?” Cas’ blush deepened.

“Yeah, it tells a lot. But not everything, I don’t think.”

Castiel pressed more warm kisses to Dean’s neck and let his lips linger at his adam’s apple. How could he possibly begin to describe his feelings for Dean? Especially now when his heart was still racing a mile a minute and his head was swimming with irresistible devotion to the man he so loved?

 Because he does love him.

Dean enchanted him.

He was fiercely loyal and cunningly brave and undeniably strong. And where Dean had flaws, Castiel matched them with flaws of his own. Castiel was created in the perfect image of God and yet he was as imperfect as the humans that the other angels so deeply resented and looked down upon.

And yet Dean never looked at him that way. Never saw him as something lesser than himself.

Beyond that, they oftentimes made each other happy. Castiel could make Dean laugh without ever needing to try—and was usually baffled as to what of his words was actually so funny. And Dean could somehow distract Cas from any and all problems that so often harassed his thoughts.

The hunter had taught him the difference between being alive and actually living.

“There aren’t words, Dean,” Castiel decided finally, “there isn’t a fair way to describe my feelings for you.”

“Coming from you, that’s pretty serious,” Dean acknowledged and kissed Castiel again.

Castiel whimpered quietly into the kiss as Dean’s hand was suddenly on his erection; warm and purposeful and practised as he stroked effortlessly along his length. Cas could feel Dean’s own erection butting up against him now and he thrust forward so it brushed firmly against his inner thigh. Dean’s breathing hitched and he turned his attention back to Castiel’s neck where he resumed biting and sucking.

Castiel shifted back along the bed so his face hovered precariously close to Dean’s cock and then proceeded to kiss Dean’s inner thighs; paying extra attention there as the hunter had become so fond of teasingly touching Castiel there himself. Dean groaned out Castiel’s name with obvious displeasure as the former angel was touching everywhere except his erection. Cas held Dean’s hips tightly and traced over the bones with his thumbs. Dean’s fingers tangled into Castiel’s hair.

“Cas, are you going to make me beg?” Dean breathed out, his eyes pleading.

Castiel shivered at the thought and found that the idea appealed greatly to him. Though it was inexplicable as to why. The reasoning completely eluded him yet he decided that he really wanted nothing more than to hear Dean call out his name in a desperate need for his pleasure. Though Cas knew that there was no part of him that would hesitate to give in. His cock twitched at the thought of it and he moaned loudly as he bit Dean’s hipbone.

He licked over the mark left behind from his teeth, and Dean’s hips shuddered and he tugged at Castiel’s hair.

“Just tell me what to do, Cas,” Dean said breathlessly; wanting to experience Castiel in control.

“Beg,” Cas ordered without delay, now stroking himself as he gazed down upon a vulnerable Dean.

The hunter always appeared stubborn in his resolve and unwilling to submit to another’s oversight, and even went as far as to argue more often than not. Dean was quite simply impossible to order around or rein in… unless apparently he was between the sheets—then he wanted nothing more than to be told what to do.

Which was something Castiel was unexpectedly thrilled to learn.

“Cas,” Dean moaned, “Please, I need you… I really fucking need you.”

“To do what? What do you need me to do?” Cas leaned up and took Dean’s nipple between his lips; sucking gently.

“To—to take me. I need you to take me, Cas. I want you to fuck me,” Dean told him, his mouth soon sitting agape in a silent moan as the former angel flicked over his nipple with the tip of his tongue.

Castiel finally took Dean’s erection into his hand and slowly caressed the length of it, starting from the base and working up to the head before going back down again. He purposely took his time and watched Dean writhe beneath him as he so desperately wanted more.

“Please, Cas, the teasing…” Dean breathed out, his head tilting back against the pillow.

“I want to tease,” Cas said plainly. His own cock was absolutely rigid now, and he himself was yearning for the heated scrambling of limbs as he wrestled any and all control back from Dean. He wanted to take Dean the way Dean wanted to be taken, but he decided there was pleasure in waiting too. But he also knew that his own patience would never allow him to wait for very long.

“You know what I want to do to you, Dean?” Castiel purred.

“Oh god, I hope so,” Dean laughed huskily.

Castiel slid his thumb through the slit of Dean’s cock and then tentatively licked up along the shaft in one swift motion. He hadn’t ever done this before, and admittedly hadn’t the first idea where to begin—though by now he knew very well where, and how, it was to end. Even the brief glimpses of porn he had come across over the years hadn’t happened to especially feature blowjobs, and if they had, he had found very little reason to think much of them other than how odd the act was. It had never occurred to him why humans sought to such obviously intimate displays of affection that, quite honestly, weren’t all that hygienic, and appeared almost uncomfortable at worst and a little awkward at best.

Though of course he had never been so dim as to not see the external, physical pleasures that ensued from it.

Actually, Dean was displaying the same physical signs now, with his mouth once again agape and his eyes flickering shut and his stuttering breath. The hunter’s hands were pulling pointlessly at the sheets, as if he had no other ideas for what he ought to do with them, other than to try holding onto something for dear life.

Castiel took this as a good sign.

He took Dean further into his mouth; still wary of his own inexperience, but gaining confidence as Dean mimicked the behaviours seen in pornography—granted he seemed far more aroused than anyone Castiel had ever seen on screen.

Now it came back to him in vivid detail what it had been like to be on the receiving end all those nights ago—though it now felt as if it had been forever. And now Castiel’s erection twinged all over again and he pulled back and gnawed on his own lip, his hands tracing the edges of Dean’s hips. He dipped his head down and once again licked along Dean’s length, his breath hot against his skin.

“Cas, please. Please fuck me,” Dean groaned as Castiel once again took his cock into his mouth and began to suck and bob his head up and down; taking him in as deep as he could. There was a certain clumsiness to Castiel’s actions, as once or twice his teeth happened to graze Dean, and the former angel was undoubtedly struck by the strain the motion put on his jaw and the difficulty that came with breathing only through his nose. But Dean seemed unbothered by this, with moans passing his lips, growing more in frequency and in volume, and his hips involuntarily thrust upwards more into Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel withdrew only to draw breath and slicked his hand over Dean’s member with a consistent pace that drew a new set of curses from Dean. The hunter was completely at his mercy and begged further for Cas to fuck him, now urging him more insistently as if entirely desperate to feel all of him.

Castiel kissed along Dean’s torso, starting at his bellybutton and working his way up, pausing only to pay special attention to Dean’s nipples which the hunter seemed especially fond of. He lightly gnawed on the nubs and sucked and licked over each careful bite. Once again Dean’s hands found their way into Castiel’s hair where he tugged each time he was especially overcome with ecstasy. Castiel moaned against him and fastened his pace; eager now to get back to Dean’s lips.

Dean slipped his hand down and took Castiel’s erection into his palm, easily stroking him again. Cas buried his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, his breath coming out fast, hot, and heavy as he so suddenly lost any sense of control. He let out a muffled whimper into Dean’s skin, his wet lips brushing against his skin in half formed kisses, but he now was so frenzied with his heart absolutely racing and his mind once again whirring that he could barely do even that. Sensing what Cas wanted, Dean tilted his chin up with his other hand and locked lips with him in a heated kiss.

Bewitched just by the taste of him, Castiel quickly took to kissing him with a newfound fervour, sucking greedily at his bottom lip and seeking the heat of his tongue. Dean’s hand pumped fiercely now, and Castiel thrust more into his palm, not willing to go even a moment without his touch.

He couldn’t have imagined anything feeling this good. Where his own solitary nights spent masturbating back at the bunker couldn’t compare to the drunken night in the backseat of the Impala, he discovered that that night couldn’t even begin to compare to this.

Sober, he felt a new intensity to all these sensations that just seemed to roll over him from his head to his toes, with his body shivering in pure bliss. Where his body had tingled with intoxication then, it shook now in a way that could only be described as electric. Dean’s mouth tasted not like the sugary alcohol they had consumed, but instead like something incredibly pure and untarnished; the uncorrupted taste of Dean—which he found he liked so much more. Where before their hands could only travel so far within the constraints of the Impala’s backseat, now they explored every inch of one another with near delirious craving.

Where that night had been amazing, if not just for the moment marking the beginning of _them_ , this was somehow even better. And Castiel took to the motion with an undying need not just to touch and kiss Dean, but to also just _be with him_.

In the brief seconds outside absolute delirium, Castiel pictured the morning where he could wake up encircled protectively in Dean’s arms. He imagined their naked bodies pressed together so intimately, but with no sexual connotation aside from the blissful memory of the night before and the daydream of more nights together in future. He couldn’t even begin to understand where this notion came from, as he had yet to see as much in the movies and shows he saw and in the very few books he read.

No, this desire was purely his own; deriving only from his heart.

It was this, entangled with the sexual fire coursing through him, that had him melting once again into Dean’s hands though his tongue was fighting Dean’s for dominance. The hunter complied and submitted his kisses to Castiel who took rein to once again tug his lip between his teeth. Any and all patience he had had completely dwindled at being taken so entirely into Dean’s hand, and now his body was pressed flush to his with his throbbing erection somehow prodding between Dean’s legs, as if knowing on its own accord exactly where it wanted to go.

And then Dean parted his legs without hesitation, guiding Castiel more into a position where the head of his cock prodded the rim of his asshole. That alone had Castiel reeling and he breathed out a shocked “oh,” at the sensation and at the implication of where they were heading.

He wasn’t so naïve as to think that this was anything lesser than it was. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly, not for himself or for Dean, and he found himself suddenly and inexplicably struck by a wave of nerves and hesitation. Hesitation not because he didn’t want to, but because he did, and he did not want to do it wrong. He understood that this somehow went beyond what they had done already—and in more ways than just the physical. And the fact that Dean was there, opening himself up to Castiel with trust and devotion, had Cas pausing in his actions.

He also had come to assume that there could be some discomfort in it.

Cas had an understanding of the human anatomy—particularly with having taken a human vessel to now call his own—that allowed him to see how he could accidentally inflict pain were he not to take care. But Dean didn’t appear to be afflicted by this same concern. As if he had forgotten that Castiel had absolutely no experience in this area, or simply believed he already possessed the caution required.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to ask which.

Instead, he gazed up into the piercing green of Dean’s eyes, with the blue of his own dipped in insecurity. The hunter must have recognised this, as he offered a calming smile and leaned up to kiss Castiel tenderly on the lips; all heat easing for a moment into something calm and quietly intimate. Dean’s hand found Castiel’s and entwined their fingers, and only then did Cas feel comfortable enough to withdraw and slick the length of his erection with his own spit before guiding it back into position between Dean’s legs.

The hunter placed his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, and his nails subtly dug into the skin of his back as Cas slowly eased into him. The head of Cas’ cock breached the rim, and then the former angel took extra care in pushing in any further; struggling to keep his eyes from fluttering shut at the feeling. He wanted to gaze upon Dean’s face. He wanted to observe for any sign that he may be moving too fast or pushing too hard, and he recognised a brief flash of pain as it crossed Dean’s features. Dean momentarily winced; he himself also new to this particular area of sex, though he found the slight pain to be littered with a strange blend of pleasure too.

As he saw this, Castiel felt it was safe to move, which he had been struggling to restrain himself from doing from the very moment he pushed in. Dean was tight around Castiel, and the pressure and warmth was something outside even the bounds of Castiel’s imagination. He decided that no matter if he had read or watched more in preparation, nothing could have primed him for this.

It was indescribable.

Once again Castiel had been rendered speechless, which, as Dean said, coming from him was rather serious. Rarely was Cas without words, even if they were the wrong ones or something unknowingly and innocently naïve. He always, even if it took him some time, found something to say. But now he had nothing, and he knew that this came to him in a state of permanence. He saw no appropriate descriptors finding him in future, or even inappropriate ones, and he didn’t dare do injustice to it by trying to use any old word in its place.

As he carefully thrust in and out of Dean, he gasped. It was a sound he was positive he had never made before, and barely believed it to have come from him at all. But now that he made it, he realised that there was absolutely nobody else that could ever pull it from him.

It was just Dean.  

Dean who was now lost to the world; first holding onto Castiel, then the bedsheets, and then Cas again. His hands found Castiel’s arms and clawed at his skin as he cursed aloud and arched his back against the bed.

“F—fuck, Cas, fuck!” Dean moaned, his breath suddenly hitching as Cas hit something that ravaged him of all stability. “So fucking good. You can’t—don’t stop.”

Another impossible gasp was ripped from Castiel’s throat and he sought to kiss Dean as he continued to press into him. His hips now seemed to move on their own accord, as he too succumbed to the edge of the world and leapt away from it.

Dean groaned into the kiss, humming into his mouth when Castiel hit the same spot again and again. Neither of them could believe it. The intense craving for more when they already had so much of each other. Even still, it didn’t feel like enough. Castiel wanted to feel and taste Dean all at once, as he quickly lost the very last shred of control he had.

He felt a final euphoric wave that robbed him of breath.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Dean breathed suddenly against Castiel’s lips. He reached down with an unsteady hand and clasped his own dick and pumped furiously.

Dean’s chest heaved with hysterical breaths, between which he cursed Castiel’s name over and over again. Somehow he clenched around Castiel’s throbbing erection, the already tight heat suddenly tightening further. Cas swore himself, the one word passing his lips like something illicit and tainted with glorious sin. At that sound, Dean completely unravelled, and his hot seed jetted onto Castiel’s stomach. The hunter shuddered through his orgasm, one hand still fucking his own cock and the other digging into Castiel’s bicep.

Dean became possibly tighter still, and the head of his cock, slick with cum, prodded Cas, making the former angel lose it all over again and now he was not only without words, but almost without thought too. He had no way of giving warning to Dean as he felt that now familiar contracting in his stomach and testicles. His thrusts lost their way as his hips jerked clumsily, as incoherent as everything else, and then he came.

This too was a sensation he never could have possibly imagined. Never before had he been this struck by heaven. Nothing had ever felt quite so glorious or significant. Dean took his lips between his and kissed tenderly, his thumb gently grazing Castiel’s cheek as the former angel came down from his high. And then Castiel collapsed onto him, his cock sliding out with more orgasmic jolts running through him.

 Their chests pressed flush together, rising and falling together harshly as they both tried to regain breath. Dean brushed his fingers through Castiel’s hair and pressed a hot kiss to his forehead. Neither of them were ready to speak; still too stunned to do anything further than just holding one another. Castiel shifted more to Dean’s side and rested his head down onto his chest, rubbing his cheek against his skin, and his arm wrapped loosely around his waist.

Dean instinctively pulled him in closer and wrapped his arm protectively around his back without needing to be asked. Cas closed his eyes and breathed Dean in, intoxicated by him. He was sure now that he knew every inch of the hunter, and loved each and every part.

Dean traced lines back and forth over Castiel’s skin with his fingertips, gently eager to still touch and explore him in even the most delicate and understated of ways. This was a new first for them; to be held in each other’s arms quite like this.

Cas felt that they may never have this again.

This could never be replicated again, but that wasn’t to say they would never have something even greater—because Castiel knew that Dean was not going to pull away this time.

Where they had already begun—probably even long before the night in the Impala—this moment was not the end.

“Dean, I—” Castiel began.

“I know,” Dean interjected gently, “me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, guys! Sorry about the late update! Not gonna lie, had a hard time getting this chapter out because, well, quite honestly because of the not at all subtle nature of it. What can I say, smut doesn't come naturally to me. Though I certainly hope you enjoyed reading it all the same! Please give any feedback you have, and I hope you are looking forward to the next chapter (which may also take some time! *apologies*)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Castiel could feel something warm and soft tickling at his neck. Groggily, he made an attempt to sweep this sudden and confusing nuisance away with a clumsy flick of his hand. The sudden and confusing nuisance exclaimed in mock pain, and Castiel’s eyes snapped open, startled. Dean was sitting up and gazing down upon him with imitated offence; his arms crossed and lips pouted.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked blearily, burying his face down into the pillow.

“Good morning to you too, handsome,” Dean remarked sarcastically.

“Why do I have an awful feeling that it’s before 10?” Castiel’s voice came out muffled, but somehow Dean could make sense of the almost unintelligible muttering.

“Because it’s 7:30,” Dean answered coolly. The hunter resumed the practice of kissing lightly at Cas’ neck, though now the effort required more awkward manoeuvring as the former angel was currently curled so tightly within himself.

“Why, Dean?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it 7:30?” Castiel grumbled. His face was becoming hot against the pillow and his chest ached as he breathed recycled air. Now it was impossible to ignore that the pillow had a very specific hotel smell that nobody liked.  

“I don’t know, Cas. How bout you tell me? I would’ve thought that you would have a better understanding of the concept of time… you know, being an ex-angel and living for millennia and all that,” Dean nudged Castiel’s side, amused.

“Dean, it’s 7:30,” Cas warned as he gave in and turned his face to the side to draw in air.

Dean took advantage of his exposed lips and kissed him gently. Castiel lazily kissed back, his hand instinctively reaching forward to find Dean and touched his bare chest. Only then did he become aware of their continued nakedness and the warmth of Dean’s leg pressed between his thighs. Were it not so early in the morning, he would have smiled.

“Kissing me doesn’t make me feel any better about this utter injustice,” he complained. Even with his eyes closed the room seemed far too bright. And the combination of the blankets and Dean’s body warmth was all that protected him from the icy morning air which was now tickling at his feet since Dean had accidentally pulled the blanket too far to his side.

“What injustice?”

“It’s 7:30!”

“Always so dramatic,” Dean chuckled lightly and kissed him again, “I’ve been awake since 6—”

“You’re psychotic,” Cas grumbled against his lips, interrupting him.

“I let you sleep in—”

“Do I have to remind you again, Dean, that it is 7:30?”

“I got bored waiting for you,” Dean said, “I’m going to be disgustingly adorable and say that I missed you.”

Castiel opened one eye and peered cautiously at Dean. He hadn’t felt him move closer, but there he was within inches of him. It was a startling though not at all uncomfortable proximity. Mostly Cas was just taken aback by those gloriously green eyes staring at him as though he were the sun. It was a look he would be happy to get used to, though he had little doubt that it would forever knock the air out of him.

“This is the only time you can get away with using that,” Cas allowed, though he knew that was a lie. Dean could, and would, always get his way somehow, and admittedly it wouldn’t take much.

Dean grinned, his eyes suddenly alight both in mischief and self-satisfaction. He too was aware of all the future mornings to come where he could wake Cas as he so pleased in exchange for a kiss or a tired embrace. Without discussion, it became apparent to both of them that Dean was secretly clingy at heart and a cuddler in nature. Something Castiel honestly hadn’t expected. Were it not the abominable hour, he would have been thrilled at the discovery.

Castiel turned on his side and pulled Dean into him so he could rest his cheek upon his chest. His arm automatically wound around his waist, and he could hardly believe how natural it all felt. Like he truly belonged there at Dean’s side, as if that was where he fit best. And no place else would do. Dean lazily ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Were he not careful, he was sure to accidentally lull Cas back to sleep.

“Would breakfast make you feel better?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” Cas mumbled and nuzzled his nose against Dean’s skin.

“You sure? You could, I don’t know, get some pancakes? Put some maple syrup on there, a little bacon on the side… crispy but with a little fat on it—”

“Dean. Do you want pancakes?” Cas asked knowingly. He was sure Dean wouldn’t give in until he got his way; at least not when it came to breakfast. Or food at any time of day for that matter.

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Dean answered carefully. He puckered his lips innocently and looked to the ceiling in an attempt to mask his true motive. This, of course, didn’t escape Castiel who knew Dean well enough by now to know when he was thinking only with his stomach.

Castiel smiled fondly, “fifteen more minutes.” He decided it would be fairer to compromise.

“Fifteen minutes,” Dean agreed, though it was obvious that his mind was occupied elsewhere. For him, fifteen minutes was bound to feel like an eternity.

Unfortunately for Cas it felt like barely a minute had passed, with his eyes fluttering shut one moment and then opening again the next as Dean shook his shoulder. He couldn’t be certain of having actually gotten any more sleep at all. But as he fumbled for Dean’s wrist and inspected his watch, low and behold, it had been twenty-five minutes.

“Huh? What is…?” Castiel sat up and glared at the light streaming in through the open window. How could he feel so much worse waking the second time round? Where before it had been unfortunate, now it felt downright cruel and uncalled for.

“Cas, I’m starving,” Dean complained and climbed out of bed. He leaned down and took Castiel’s face into his hands and guided him into a tender kiss. “I’ll make it up to you and get you coffee first thing,” he offered.

“That you better,” Cas grumbled, placing his hands over Dean’s and silently insisting on another kiss. Which Dean obliged him without complaint before pulling away and gathering his clothes to change into after a quick shower.

“Wanna join me?” Dean stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. Even exhausted and bleary-eyed, Cas couldn’t ignore the glorious splendour of Dean Winchester standing naked before him.

“So we can face the torture of cold water together?” Cas wrinkled his nose at the memory of the awfully cold shower he’d had the night before.

“Good water pressure though,” Dean reminded him.

“Like that helped,” Cas sighed and dawdled past Dean into the bathroom. “I’ll want more kisses.”

“Okay, your highness,” Dean agreed and turned on the shower, hopelessly turning on the hot tap only and testing the spray for even an ounce of warmth.

“Don’t test me, Dean,” Cas warned, leaning his head against the wall.

Suddenly Dean was kissing between his shoulder blades. Castiel sighed and leaned back into him, goose bumps raising the hairs on his arms as Dean’s lips tickled at his skin. Apparently more kisses was the only way to make up for the ungodly hour.

“You’re bossy in the morning,” Dean commented, carefully holding Castiel’s hips in his steady hands, tracing his thumbs over the bones. He gnawed gently at the back of Cas’ neck, nipping and sucking at his skin, trying to elicit a moan from the former angel.

“I’m more amiable after 9am, I think you’ll find,” Cas reasoned, “doesn’t that count for something?”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed distractedly, now biting at Castiel’s shoulder. “But I kinda like you when you’re bossy.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“Well, I like you then too. Just a bit differently,” Dean explained.

Cas turned around and took Dean’s bottom lip between his in a tired kiss before pulling away. He stopped to take a wary breath before stepping into the shower. Immediately he hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms, his eyes boring into Dean’s with unsettling annoyance and gloom. The water was freezing, and he now resented the entire concept of showering despite it once being one of his favourite human experiences.

It was amazing, even to him, how quickly one awful experience could change everything.

“Dean, I almost favour purgatory to this,” Cas grumbled sourly.

“You act as though the world’s ending… again,” Dean chuckled darkly and stepped in after him. He cursed under his breath and mimicked Cas’ tense stance, but purposely stood and took the brunt of the cold so Cas didn’t have to.

Even still, the cold bit at him and woke him up some, though he remained glaringly irritable all the same. But he could never begrudge Dean for it, and still sought to receive whatever affection he could get. As the hunter took to a rushed shower routine—shampooing his hair and lathering himself with soap—Cas mostly looked for chances to kiss him or to lean into a short embrace.

Since getting Dean, he was having a hard time knowing when he needed to let go.

“I’ll accidentally get soap in your eye if you aren’t careful,” Dean warned, raising an eyebrow at the ex-angel who was once again leaning into his side and nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck.

“So?” Cas asked stubbornly.

“So the first time you did that you screamed bloody murder,” Dean reminded him, “I remember running into that bathroom… it was not a pretty sight, Cas.”

“At least you had the gift of sight. Mine was robbed from me,” Cas pulled away; immediately cautious of history possibly repeating itself, and he stepped out to grab a towel. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he wrapped the towel around his waist, and had to quickly remind himself that there was nothing new to see.

Yet, when the hunter also stepped out and took hold of a towel, his gaze did not divert from him.

“What?” Castiel asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Dean smiled warmly, “it’s nothing… just uh, this is still a bit weird, you know?”

“This being…?” Cas was confused.

“You know; _this_. You, me. Us. It’s weird, right?”

“Well, weird wouldn’t be the first word I’d use,” Cas decided, “Is it weird? ... Am I weird?”

“Man, you always have been—and always will be—weird. But that isn’t a bad thing,” Dean explained and dried his hair. “I just mean that it’s weird that we’re… you know.”

“Sexually involved?” Cas offered, he himself struggling to find the correct term for whatever it was they were doing.

“Nah, we’re more than that,” Dean shook his head quickly.

“Sexually _and_ romantically involved?”

“I don’t like the word romantic,” Dean wrinkled his nose, “I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Admittedly it doesn’t quite roll off my tongue either,” Castiel granted. “We aren’t exactly… conventional.”

“You’re, what? A few centuries old? You are— _were_ —another species. Hell, you had wings for God’s sake,” Dean seemed utterly stunned at the idea though having known this all along. Castiel couldn’t help but agree and be equally as baffled.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t bring God into this,” Castiel urged gently, “I haven’t high hopes that this in any way plays into His plans. Though, that’s assuming he’s even still around with plans to have.”

“Right… sorry,” Dean winced, “Foot in mouth. Again.”

“Generally it’s alluring,” Cas assured him and pulled on a clean set of clothes.

He was glad to once again be clad in some warm attire with his—Dean’s—slightly oversized shirt. The sleeves hung down past his wrists, which convinced him that the shirt must also be a size too big for Dean as well. The jeans were worse, however. Where the length fit him well enough, the waist again was a little too big. His leaner frame always struggled to keep them up, and left him with the annoying task of pulling them back up over his hips if ever he forgot to wear a belt. The belt which he now couldn’t find despite believing he had left it in the bathroom the night before.

Dean had somehow gotten ahead of him was now pulling on some socks before his shoes, eager again to head out and find somewhere to eat. Cas left him in the bathroom and dug first through his own bag for the missing belt and then resorted to looking through Dean’s as well. Neither of them had been paying much mind to what got packed where as they shared all their clothes and didn’t carry much else.

Castiel found something unusual, however, and pulled out the very same pornographic magazine Dean had purchased at the very beginning of their journey. The same magazine Cas had long ago lost track of and had assumed had been thrown away or left behind. What’s more; the corners of each page were now evidently worn as if Dean had sat and idly flicked through it numerous times. Though Cas couldn’t even remember a time where Dean would have had opportunity.

“Oh… yeah, that,” Dean said sheepishly from the doorway.

Castiel glanced up, his face guilty at having been caught rummaging through Dean’s things without first asking permission. All earlier reasoning about shared clothing and not much else had slipped his mind as if the thought had never come into consideration before opening the bag. He realised how awfully evident it seemed like he had stuck his nose where he shouldn’t have, and now worried he had breached some kind of undefined boundary.

“You can just… throw that away,” Dean said and rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks reddened slightly and he diverted his eyes to the carpet, as if it were important he count each strand of the off-white fabric.

“Why would I?” Cas tilted his head a little to the side in confusion, with his brow furrowing into that familiar look of curiosity and bewilderment.

“Well, I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “It seems stupid having that now.”

“You had no issue flaunting it to me a few weeks ago,” Cas pointed out, “I even recall you offering to lend it to me.”

“Yeah, but that was then. Now it’s just… well, I’ve got you now don’t I?”

Cas looked up at Dean. A small smile played at the edges of his lips as he watched the pink of Dean’s cheeks darken into a flush red; the silly schoolboy grin he once adorned now closely resembled something awkward and shy.

Castiel could hardly believe that he somehow made Dean that nervous.

“When did you even find time to look at it?” He asked, amused.

“You aren’t as observant as you think you are,” Dean explained after a moment of hesitant silence. And just like that the silly schoolboy grin was back in all its glory, and he put his hands on his hips in proud defiance. Little did he know, he had no need to defend his actions to Castiel who had learned of his interest in porn many years before—even earlier than he probably ought to have; back when he still was still strongly devoted to serving God.

 It had been perplexing discovering that the so called apocalypse-ending-righteous-man would have had a subscription to Busty Asian Beauties had he only a more permanent residence.

Castiel tucked the magazine back into Dean’s duffel bag the way he had found it and zipped it up again neatly; already having forgotten what he had been searching for in the first place. Dean watched him in interest, making no attempt to argue for or against it.

“You’ll need something to keep yourself occupied in the morning,” he explained and stood upright, “that’s when you found time, isn’t it?” He realised that that was the only time period in which he and Dean weren’t together—when Dean was up and about and he wasn’t. He smiled smugly at having deduced as much so quickly.

“You make it near impossible to have secrets,” Dean complained jokingly.

“When has keeping secrets from one another done us any good in the past?” Cas said.

“Good point,” Dean acknowledged. He stepped smoothly closer to Cas and nudged his chin up gently with his hand before kissing him. “What did you mean by me needing something to keep me occupied in the morning?”

“Dean—” Cas began and then interrupted himself by leaning into Dean again; this time deepening the kiss and placing his hands purposely on the small of the hunter’s back. “—As much as I love you, if you ever wake me up before 9 again...” Another kiss. “I’ll smite you. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way, and I’ll do it.”

“Understood,” Dean said, blinking in a stunned surprise as Castiel’s kisses knocked the air right out of him all over again.

Clearly, Dean now believed that a magazine could never truly suffice for the real thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Over the next few days, they abandoned the hotel early in search for another that had hot water. Cas, despite all his other adaptabilities, could not come to terms with a freezing shower every morning and night and took to sleeping in past midday—much to Dean’s displeasure. Trapped in the routine of four hour rests, Dean complained often of having to resist the temptation to wake Cas early despite all his warnings not to. He criticized the utter laziness of it all, and often reminded him of the hours wasted and meals missed; but Cas knew that Dean just missed him.

When Castiel eventually awoke on his own accord, he’d usually find Dean slumped on the chair in front of the television with the volume down low; his eyes glazed in an inconceivable boredom. Cas recognised the impatient foot tapping and the restless motion of his hand brushing back and forth through his hair. And Cas would remain still for a few more moments with one eye open watching him. He found it almost picturesque—the sight of Dean in a state of domesticity, with the hotel backdrop acting as a substitute for the white picket fence life Cas believed Dean truly deserved.

And he was still dumbstruck as to how he himself somehow fit into that ideology now, when he’d believed otherwise for so many years.

Quite simply, he loved Dean. And he loved the unexpected simplicity of it all. He found that being loved in return made the sensation of love itself into something he was rather than something he had. Though it remained unfathomable as to how that could be. Slowly, however, he learned that there was no purpose in questioning it.

He didn’t need an answer.

 The hunter had mostly opened his mind to the idea of an actual relationship with Castiel—though the former angel hadn’t pushed for a label of any kind. Behind closed doors Dean melted into Cas as if there had never been any question about it. As if there had never been anything unusual or new about it at all. But then, out in front of prying eyes, Dean succumbed to an inconceivable pressure and reduced his affection to soulful looks, and flirtatious and playful kicks to Cas’ legs under tables.

Everything turned secretive unless they were alone.

Though Castiel decided he didn’t mind. He was grateful enough to be with Dean in whatever capacity he could get.

 

* * *

 

 

“Who would have thought that you’d be the hornier one out of us two,” Dean mused, setting aside one of Castiel’s magazines he had picked up and started idly flicking through. Cas continued to kiss up along Dean’s stomach, slowly pushing his shirt upward to expose his skin. He knelt between Dean’s thighs; having crawled there from the end of the bed where he had been sitting with the remote in hand flicking from channel to channel on the television.

“There was nothing to watch,” he explained between kisses; his breath warm now between Dean’s nipples.

“Oh so I’m just something to do, am I?” Dean asked and ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“Is there a wrong answer here?” Cas pondered aloud and took Dean’s left nipple between his lips and gently sucked and then carefully nipped it with his teeth.

“Not when you’re doing that,” Dean admitted with a soft sigh.

Castiel _had_ been the one to initiate sex most often; though he hadn’t given that fact much thought until now. In retrospect, he realised that while Dean often flirted and voiced various suggestive comments—both subtle and blatant—Cas had been more physical in his displays of affection. He didn’t have a way with words the way Dean did; usually stating things too abruptly and plainly to at all be considered sexy. Instead, he found he communicated best through looks and touch, and somehow Dean always understood.

“I really love you, Dean,” Cas said.

“Well then kiss me, you idiot,” Dean smiled, sitting up more and pulling Cas in closer.

Castiel kissed him tenderly at first before deepening it; overwhelmed again by the warmth of Dean there in his arms, and the taste of his lips. Somehow the thrill of being with Dean hadn’t yet mollified, and he felt that perhaps it simply never would. Even if he ever wanted it to.

Loving Dean any less than he did was just impossible.

“Cas?” Dean murmured against his lips and waited for Cas to withdraw slightly. “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“Should I be concerned?” Cas asked, now leaning in again and edging his kisses closer to Dean’s neck.

“No. No, not concerned. But I dunno, I feel like you’ll be concerned anyway,” Dean fumbled and failed to capture the words the way he intended. Which immediately sparked Castiel’s concern.

Cas sat upright with his hands firmly planted on the bed either side of Dean, and they faced one another, though Dean’s eyes remained purposely diverted to the wall, as if he was unwilling to make eye contact. Dean rubbed Castiel’s knee gently, but his touch was not that of lust, but rather of consolation and promise—though Cas couldn’t discern what exactly Dean was promising.

The faint flutter of burden swayed Cas’ heart, and his expression grew stern, with the excitement in his eyes dwindling and the ease of his smile faltering.

“I’m concerned,” Castiel declared.

“Of course you are,” Dean sighed and ran his hand over his face, “you really shouldn’t be. I wish you weren’t.”

“What do you need to ask me?”

Castiel withdrew further and inched his way back to the foot of the bed from where he had come from, and planted himself there as though he was resuming the task of channel surfing. As if nothing had changed. As though he hadn’t caused any need for concern by acting without invitation.

“Hey, always so dramatic, Cas,” Dean tried to tease, but there was an evident edge to his voice that implied he himself found reason to worry. “Look, nothing is wrong. Really. I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea and making it into something it isn’t.”

“Do I do that?” Cas asked with a furrowed brow. Was he really as complicated as he had initially thought?

“Sometimes,” Dean admitted, “but I feel like I’m making it worse by pointing that out.”

“You aren’t making it worse,” Cas quickly assured him, lying through a forced smile for the sake of Dean’s peace of mind. “What is it?”

Dean frowned and leaned forward. He reached out and placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Sam called this morning,” Dean began carefully, “he thinks he might have a lead.”

“You’re talking to Sam again?”

“Trust me, that’s a new development. I would have told you sooner if it wasn’t,” Dean explained.

“Well, what’s the lead?” Cas glanced back at the hunter.

“He thinks it could be an angel thing… though he isn’t sure!” Dean said and then quickly clarified his point. “He doesn’t know for certain that it involves the god squad, but he, uh, he wants our help.”

“Our?” Cas asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, _our_. But not if you don’t want to. If you don’t feel up to dealing with those—” Dean cut himself off midsentence, shook his head, and tried again. “With the angels. Then you don’t have to.”

“Dean? What are you asking me, exactly?” Cas leaned his elbow on his leg and rested his chin against his palm. He somehow couldn’t discern whether his heart was racing or if it had inexplicably stopped. Which was a sensation he hadn’t yet experienced. And he found he didn’t like it all that much.

“Are you okay with going back to the bunker?”

Cas turned properly and crossed his legs on the bed, now facing Dean with all the curiosity and confusion he hadn’t anticipated he’d feel. Of everything he had expected, something as simple as that hadn’t crossed his mind. And he wondered why Dean thought the question would distress him.

Then he wondered why he still felt the strong sense of concern nonetheless.

“That’s it?”

“I uh, well, yeah? I think so?” Dean seemed uncertain; as if he too was dumbstruck as to why the simple question held so much weight. They both pondered the thought that maybe the weight was there purely because they had put it there. “I just… I don’t want you to think that going back home changes anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like us. Look, I don’t know how to explain it to Sam. I’ve thought about it. A lot. And I still have no freaking idea. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be different.”

“So you and me—?”Cas began.

“Will still be you and me. I promise,” Dean assured him. But there still remained something pained in his expression. A thought he wasn’t sharing. Words he wasn’t voicing. And Cas could see it aching to be said. He could see the flicker of doubt in Dean’s eyes, and he had to worry what more there could possibly be.

What was Dean still wanting to hide?

“There’s something else,” Cas said knowingly.

“You’re getting better at that. Reading people,” Dean granted after a moment of silence. His lips hinted at a crooked grin; fond of Castiel’s occasional talent for observation, but also saddened by it was well. Cas realised that sometimes Dean wished he would make it easier for him to hide.

“So?” Cas urged.

Dean let out a heavy sigh and his posture visibly slackened. His back hunched and he crossed his arms tightly across his chest as if attempting to barricade himself from something. Or as though he was trying to hold something important within himself as it tried to break out. Dean never liked feeling vulnerable like this; not when it was real and true and demanding. The hunter had built a life out of repressing his fears and seeking refuge at the bottom of a bottle. Anything to avoid expressing his fears aloud for anyone to hear—even Sam. Even Cas.   

“Do you remember telling me that I’ve got you? That you’d stick around?” Dean asked finally. “You know, that night when you patched up my wound?”

“I remember, Dean.”

“Right… I just. I know what you said. But I uh, I still lack a little faith, you know?”

“Faith?” Castiel couldn’t follow. And he searched Dean’s face for any sign as to what he meant. He wanted desperately to understand as Dean’s tone recognisably darkened and his words faded into one another in hesitant mumblings.

“Faith in you. Or rather, us,” Dean said and winced. “That sounds so shit. I know. I just mean—”

“That you don’t trust me?” Cas was hurt. But, worse still, he wasn’t all that surprised.

Behind every action, in every word, and spawning every thought, was the belief that he wasn’t to be trusted. That his past faults were too great to be overlooked. Or to be forgiven. He found himself to be someone who somehow, someway, always repeated history. He always made a mistake of some kind. A mistake that could never be withdrawn or forgotten.

The tragedies his actions brought into light weren’t something he could fix, despite desperately wanting to. And so he didn’t hesitate to believe that Dean still, after all this time and after everything they had done and had become, hadn’t found a way to trust him.

“That’s not it. I’m just worried that maybe, if push comes to shove, you’ll pick them,” Dean said. The hunter gnawed on his lip. His fists clenched and unclenched. His jaw tensed. “I’m worried that something will happen and you won’t be there anymore.”

Cas blinked in disturbed surprise.

“You think I’d leave you?”

“If you got your grace back, maybe. And look, Cas, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I would,” Cas said sternly, “if I left you for anything, I’d forever blame myself. And I’d expect you to do the same.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault. It’s just the way it is, you know? You still think of them as family,” Dean scooted closer to Castiel and held onto his wrists, trying frantically to explain in a way that would hurt him the least. What Dean didn’t seem to grasp was the fact that Cas already felt the edges of himself dying a little. Broken at the thought that Dean could ever believe Castiel was capable of abandoning him now.

“Dean. I’m only going to say this once,” Cas leaned forward and nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. He clenched his eyes shut tight. “You asked me to stay. I promised you I would. I have every intention to keep my promise.”

Dean buried his nose in Castiel’s hair and breathed him in, slowly pulling Cas into his arms and embracing him lovingly and protectively against his chest.

Cas often displayed his affection through action rather than words. He expressed his devotion best through touch. And as he placed one delicate kiss on the skin of Dean’s neck—his lips lingering there for a few moments too long—he felt Dean’s body soften against his. He felt the weight lift from Dean’s shoulders as the promise washed over them both in the warmth of each other’s arms.

“Let’s go home, Cas,” Dean whispered finally.

 Somehow, Dean always understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, guys! I'll admit I originally had another ending in mind, but I was finding that I was starting to lose heart in it. I didn't want to draw it out further because I knew I'd lose any and all sense of what I was trying to do. While I feel this ending is rather abrupt, I think it shows that there are still doubts lingering beneath the surface. And future problems to face. And things that would eventually try to pull one another apart. And it's up to your interpretation as to whether they will keep the promises they make.
> 
> I hoped you liked this story. And if not, then I hope you'll like my next one better. (I have another project under works, but it may be some time before it sees the light of day... but stay tuned!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you really like it so far :D Look out for more


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